May We Meet Again aka Death is Not the End
by Demosthenes23
Summary: In order to save Clarke from the Ice Queen, Lexa pays the ultimate price, and is reincarnated into the next commander...a member of the Ice Nation. Unfortunately for them, Clarke and Lexa's strong emotional bond starts to bring forth memories and feelings that should have remained locked away, causing a whole host of conflict.
1. Chapter 1

**If it wasn't already obvious, this is gonna be a weird(er) one. The idea's been floating around for awhile though, so I finally decided to just write it. I have to give special thanks to Jude81 for brainstorming the concept with me some time ago. We were going to attempt to co-write it one day but I was too impatient. This probably isn't really what she had in mind, but it seemed right to me. Anyway, hope it's not too confusing to follow. I don't think I've ever written in first person present tense before, so it might be. Good luck! I mean, enjoy!**

* * *

 _'I'm the same, but different._

 _I have the same face, the same voice, the same body I've always had. But inside I'm different. I'm not sure how to explain exactly. I'll do my best._

 _A week ago I awoke like any other, alert and ready for action. Training begins promptly at sunrise and I am never late. The war may be won, but that doesn't mean our people can afford to become lax in their duties. There are always new threats, always new obstacles to surmount. As a knight in training for the queen's personal guard, I know this better than most. She is a great woman, who destroyed the coalition and freed us from the commanders dictatorship._

 _At least, that is what I used to think._

 _Now I'm not so sure. Now every time I catch a glimpse of the queen, I feel an irrational surge of hatred the likes of which I never thought myself capable of. It's frightening to have such intense negative emotions towards someone I have devoted my life to, that I have sworn to protect at all costs._

 _Unfortunately, that is not the extent of my current woes, and hard as it may be to fathom, my next discovery is perhaps even more disturbing._

 _There is a woman who I often spar with, that I have known since childhood. We have always been great friends, but nothing more than that. I know she harbours romantic feelings towards me, and has for years, but I've simply never been able to reciprocate. I've only ever been attracted to other men._

 _Now I'm not so sure. Now every time I catch a glimpse of Velest, my heart flutters. Every time we grapple in hand to hand combat, every time we touch, I find myself reluctant to let go. I feel drawn to her in a way I never have before. I think she's starting to notice. It's only a matter of time before others do too._

 _There's one more thing I should mention in this short list of inexplicable occurrences: I can now read._

 _One day I was just as illiterate as the rest of the warriors, and the next I could understand the titles of the books in the queen's personal study. To test whether I could now also write, I gained access to pen and paper...I think these results speak for themselves._

 _I don't know what any of it means. I just wish these changes would stop happening. But it's been days, and I only seem to be getting worse. I'm starting to lose hope that I will ever feel like myself again.'_

I put the crudely wrought pen aside and sit back in my chair, hands across my thinly garbed and toned stomach, studying what I have just written by the light of a single candle. A frayed and somewhat smelly blanket is draped around my shoulders. I thought maybe this exercise would make things clearer to me, give me some sort of explanation. If anything, I am even more confused than when I began. I sigh in frustration, hold the edge of the paper to the flame, and scatter the remnants into the dirty, well trampled snow. It would not do for someone to read my thoughts on the queen, not even Velest.

 _Velest_. I sigh for a different reason. I should tell her what's been happening, how I'm feeling, but something keeps holding me back. We've never kept secrets before, not that I'm aware of anyway, and I trust her with my life. And yet still something inside warns me not to and bites my tongue if I make an attempt.

An unaccustomed anxiety, a need to keep in constant motion, has begun to settle in my bones. I pace within the small, sparsely furnished quarters alloted to each of the queen's warriors. If I pass my royal training, I will be knighted and given a house here in Polis instead. A great honour.

But how can I faithfully serve someone I have the impulse to throw my dagger into every time they come into sight?

I rub my hands over my weary face and my fingertips scrape across my stubble. Five days ago I had a magnificent braided beard. I've since cut it off and received a near constant itch as payment. I don't know why I did it.

Shaving is one thing I feel confident in handling, so I get to it. I sharpen my dagger on a strap of leather and prepare the lather with my horsehair brush, once my fathers. Before I apply it, I take another good look at myself in the leftover water on hand.

Everyone's lineage is a hodge podge since the nuclear war. Mine is no exception. I am a mixture of various different races, the names of which have long since been forgotten. Part of my fathers bloodline is ancient and existed in the upper Northern lands for centuries upon centuries. It is said that during all that time, his people lived off the land, and scavenged like everyone does now. Perhaps that is why I have always been so competent at such things, even from a young age. Physically, I take after my mother, soft features reign. My cheeks are slightly rounded with the leftovers of my youth. The perpetual tan from outdoors living has faint lines running through it, most prominently across my low brow and at the corners of my piercing green eyes. My face is relatively blemish free, though a nasty scar from an ill fated fight creeps along the edge of my jaw and ends just past my earlobe. By most accounts, attractive. Finding male companionship has never been an issue for me.

Reassured that I at least still look like myself, I begin coating my face with the frothing white substance. I am almost finished applying the lather when there's a rap on my grimy tent flap. I cock my head sideways at the unexpected visitor who sweeps into the small space without waiting for my response. It's my superior and trainer, Lord Tyrell, the queen's right hand man. He's an imposing specimen, much taller and well built than myself, but he's never intimidated me before, and we generally get along well, though recently I have been struggling to keep my temper in his presence.

Despite knowing how ridiculous I must look right now, I turn and straighten to attention. Tyrell doesn't look happy, but he doesn't look angry either. Training is done for the day. I have no idea what this intrusion is about and my recent anxiety rears its ugly head again.

"A scout has reported hostiles encroaching on the queen's territory," he says in his slightly too high pitched voice. "You're to join Tarn and Joyde on a reconnaissance mission to verify this claim. If you find them, and one happens to be the Wanheda, capture it and return. Kill everyone else."

 _That's not what reconnaissance means_ , I think. Another one of my irrational waves of hatred washes over me. My hands clench at my sides. I am almost grateful for the partial mask.

"Do you understand?" he says, raising an eyebrow at my lack of response.

"I do, my lord," I reply in clipped tones, with a jerky dip of my head.

Lord Tyrell turns to leave but then stops when he notices the pen residing on my little makeshift table. Thankfully the paper with the condemning words has long since become indistinguishable from the ground. Still, my pulse quickens.

He gives me a curious look and says, "Why do you have that?"

I have no idea how to respond but then I hear myself saying, "Found it during our sweep of the city. Thought I could trade it in for a new pair of socks. I was wrong."

That seemed to satisfy the man. He smiled slightly as he picked it up, examining it. "I'm not surprised. Writing is a dead art. Completely useless to a knight."

With Tyrell gone (taking the pen with him) I reluctantly wipe off the lather and hasten to don my mismatched armour. Among other things, it appears the itch is here to stay.

* * *

Having grown up in the Ice Nation, a harsher Northern climate, I've always loved the winter, or at least, learned to appreciate its stark beauty. The lovely chill. The absolute silence. No longer. I haven't been outside of the packed city since we overthrew the commander and claimed it as our own. Without the warmth from all of those additional bodies, I'm cold. _Really_ cold. Colder than I can ever remember being. I'm wearing my usual white furs over top my armour. I am more than adequately clothed for this land. I should be focused on the mission, but all I can think about is how cold I am. And how warm Velest could make me if I let her.

I'm startled out of my disturbing thoughts by Tarn. A relatively handsome man I have slept with on more than one occasion. Absentmindedly, I wonder why I didn't think of _him_ to warm my bed instead.

Tarn has spotted remnants of human tracks in the powdery snow. They can't be more than an hour old or the slight winds would have completely erased them from detection. We spread out and follow, weapons at the ready. Thinking back to similar hunting expeditions my father and I would go on, I steady my nerves and hone my sight in the moonlit darkness, ready to flick my wrist at a moments notice.

It's only minutes later before movement whips my head to the side and nearly embeds my dagger into an innocent hare. That false alarm averted, I creep on for some time, all the while cursing myself for not wearing gloves. If I were equally proficient with both hands, I would shove my right into the depths of my furs. As it is, I simply hope my dagger hand doesn't freeze to stone before I need its services.

The time for that comes sooner than expected. I hear hushed voices somewhere close by and signal to the others so that we can investigate together. We're all of equal rank here but Joyde takes it upon herself to take the lead on our ambush. She's always been an attention seeker, so I am not surprised. I am however surprised by what happens next.

There's no one here, nothing except for a little silver box. The incomprehensible voices are coming from the box.

"What is it?" asks Joyde.

"We need to go," I say.

Tarn is nodding in agreement, but Joyde is stepping further into danger, utterly fascinated. Against my better judgement, I go after her. A spear goes right through the top of her head. I am splattered in blood and tissue. I don't need to spare a second glance to know she is long dead before she hits the blood soaked snow by my feet. Eyeing the trees, I pull out my sword and swivel on the spot. I am prepared to deflect further projectiles, be they spears or arrows, but neither comes.

Instead I am surrounded by a ragged group of people who have dropped out of the trees via a clever rope mechanism, a favourite of the Trikru, and one that proved quite troublesome during the war. Their faces are mostly covered against the cold. Some of them have guns. I wonder if any are loaded. I've heard tell from the other warriors that the enemy have long since run out of ammunition, otherwise they would have won.

One of them tells us to drop our weapons. After their previous display of brutality, I don't hesitate. Besides, there's no way I can outmatch the speed of multiple bullets. I am not willing to risk my life on rumour and conjecture. Tarn _is_. I silently watch as he cuts one of them, only to be cut down himself. There's an eerie silence after the gunshots stop ringing through my ears and the forest itself. That is, until it's replaced by the author of Joyde's demise.

The one with the biggest gun scoops up the intact silver box, presses a button and speaks into it. "You can stop babbling, R. We've got a live one. Let's hope he's more chatty than the last one. Bringing him to you now."

I'm forcefully pushed into the snow while someone secures my arms behind me with an odd sounding restraint. They lift me back up to my feet and proceed to search my person for hidden weapons. Once they're satisfied I'm completely unarmed, they prod me along like cattle, with the end of the same bloody spear that killed Joyde. A constant reminder against my back to warn me of the consequences of acting out.

We walk for what seems like ages, all circulation gone from my too tight restraints. My hands are well and truly stone now, probably black as the night. If we don't get into some sort of warm enclosure soon, my exposed face will follow.

For once my prayers are answered and I'm prodded into a high tent much larger than my own, a welcoming fire crackling in the centre. There is no other source of light save for the moon. A curtain partially obscures a fur covered bed. What I wouldn't give to curl up under their combined warmth. The fire will have to do. I'm stationed just behind it, like it's a barrier between me and the shrouded figure sitting in a throne made of wood and spears. The combination of their hood and relative darkness makes it impossible for me to make out any facial features. I can't even tell if I'm facing a man or woman. Oddly, I feel at ease.

"What's your name?" asks the female voice. There's a definite edge to the tone. Dangerous. Cruel. Whether it's real or being put on, I can't say.

"Enos," I reply without hesitation.

This simple uttering causes my escort to mutter amongst themselves. The shrouded figure holds up a hand, demanding silence.

"Do you know why you're here, Enos?"

"You want something. Information I suppose."

"Good to know we didn't bag a complete idiot," mutters one of them standing off to the side.

The figure shifts position slightly. "Will you give it to me willingly? Or will I have to beat it out of you?"

"Torture rarely provides useful information, and my people are trained not to talk."

Some light chuckling around me. "You've already talked far more than any of the others. Why do you think that is? What makes you so different?"

 _I've been asking myself that question a lot lately_.

I say nothing, wondering how I can possibly get out of this situation alive. That something inside that I don't understand wiggles violently, as if it is physically trying to get me to move closer to this person, as if proximity towards who I can only assume to be the Wanheda will somehow save me.

My silence pays off and the Wanheda rises from its throne and unconcernedly steps down the dais until every part except the head is bathed in an orange glow. It reaches up to pull back its hood, as if preparing to spit venom that will disintegrate me, armour and all. Instead of venom, a large quantity of braided hair spills forth. Then when I can barely stand the suspense any longer, it finally steps into the light so that I can behold all of its terrifying glory.

And I _am_ terrified. More terrified than I've ever been in my life.

When my eyes make contact with the Wanheda's, an impossible scene flashes across my mind.

 _I, along with my remaining allies are in a stalemate with the queen's forces. Nia has her curved dagger locked around Clarke's throat. I have her son, Prince Roan, in a similar embrace. I am terrified of what is about to happen. I know there is only one way to save her life. I must surrender myself to the queen, let her do whatever unspeakable things she wishes to me._

 _"You can have me, Nia. No one else need die. On one condition. Let my people leave Polis unharmed. When I have confirmation of this, I will release Roan, and you can have me."_

 _To Clarke's horror, the queen accepts my deal. I can barely stand to maintain our watery gaze - so reminiscent of the mountain - as they lead her away from me for the last time._

 _Sky blue is the final image I see before I am ripped apart by horses._

Back in reality, I am on my side on the snowy floor, inches from the fire. Clarke is hunched over me, fingers pressed to my neck. I am shaking. My heart is pounding so hard, I feel like it will burst open any second. At first, the blood rushing in my ears drowns out what the huddled group around me is saying. Slowly it becomes intelligible.

"...happened?" says the man with the big gun. _Bellamy_. "A seizure?"

"I don't know," says Clarke, frowning.

"Looked like he just fainted to me," says an unmoved female warrior, arms crossed. _Octavia_.

Another woman – _Raven_ \- nudges the kneeling girls shoulder gently. "Now _that's_ what I call a knockout beauty."

I see the others as if in muted colours. Only she shines bright.

"Clarke," I murmur in a barely audible voice, turning onto my back, crushing my numb hands, all so that I can see her a little better.

Her eyes lock with mine. Beneath the blue there is madness. It is well hidden, but it is there. I am saddened.

"Why did you use that name?" she snarls, grabbing me by the coat and lifting me into an almost sitting position. Our faces are very close and I have a sudden urge to kiss her. I don't.

Despite my brain's sluggish nature, I finally understand what has happened to me.

"I am the commander," I say.

They all bristle at this declaration, none more so than the golden haired girl. Her iron knuckled fist connects with my skull, and all I see is black.

* * *

 **So that was something...I think. I had a fun time writing this, despite the sad nature. A lot of people think she's gonna die in S3, and I try not to dwell on that possibility...so then I decided to write this fic. :p**

 **I highly doubt anything like this will happen in the show. I think the grounders idea of reincarnation is probably not literal. So you don't have to worry about spoilers for S4 or whatever.**

 **I also have to give credit to a Robert Downey Jr. movie called Chances Are...this fic is gonna have a similar premise...but not the comedy aspect, at least, not to the same degree.**

 **Well anyhoo, tell me what you thought if you'd like. Is it completely mental? Would you actually want to see Enos/Lexa pursue Clarke? Should I continue?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Bitches be cra**

* * *

"Aaahh!"

I am abruptly roused by a splash of cold water to my face and body. The cut from Clarke's blow viciously stings, but I do not wince. Confused, I simply blink the dripping blood and water mixture away. My armour and furs have been removed and I am only clothed in day wear suitable for the relative warmth of the city, preferably by a fire.

As it is, I am freezing out here tied up to a tree that has an uncomfortable bulge pressing into the small of my back. I do my best not to shiver, but it is impossible. I am beyond cold. The frigid sensation is highly reminiscent of the time I fell through the ice as a boy while fishing. Velest saved my life that day. There will be no such saviour here. I focus on calming my breathing and the shock to my senses.

The same group of Skaikru are standing around me. There is the addition of another, torch in hand. She eyes me without expression, yet I can still tell that she is angry about something.

 _Indra_.

Clarke steps forward, drawing my attention. "It's twenty-four below zero," she says with a sinister glint in her eyes, "and you're already shivering. Do you know what that means?" She doesn't wait for a response. "You're in the early stages of hypothermia. You've got maybe ten minutes left to you before frost bite sets in," - she clasps my chin roughly, the stubble hard as ice - "and starts to do permanent damage to that pretty little face of yours."

She releases my chin roughly and instead grabs my biceps. Her face is very close to mine again but I have no urge to kiss her this time. Frankly, I am disappointed that she has resorted to such cruel tactics so quickly, without giving me an opportunity to explain myself. Even if am the enemy. It seems unnecessary.

"Five minutes later," she continues, puffs of visible and cooled air hitting me in the face, "when your skin is burning like it is on fire, your external muscle's will begin to stiffen like a corpses. All too soon, your heart will follow suit, so that your brain can't function properly. Finally when you can't tell up from down, you'll slip into unconsciousness."

She steps back and waves a gloved hand. It's then that I realize my own hands have been gloved, and are not quite as numb as they used to be. I wonder why she has bothered with this kindness when she is so intent on harm. Perhaps it wasn't her?

"By that point the chances of revival become iffy." She gives me a pointed look. "That is even assuming I am _inclined_ to do so." She steps into my personal space again. "I've now wasted one minute telling you all that, so it would be in your best interest to cooperate fully from here on out."

"C-Clarke," I chatter, that single word hoping to grant some mercy.

" _Don't_ ," she warns, nostrils flaring, fists clenching. "Don't call me that." I expect another blow to the head and prepare myself accordingly. Instead of a punch, she steps aside and a second bout of cold water is thrown on me by Bellamy and I am drenched anew. The shivering intensifies.

"You say that you're the commander," she says, stepping back in front of me, expression fierce. "Prove it."

Besides the one brief glimpse of my past life, and certain stirrings within, I've got nothing.

"I can't."

She seems taken aback by my response, the others sharing looks and muttering behind her. Clearly after my talkative manner, they expected an elaborate lie of some sort to follow up my claim, one that they could then refute point by point before walking away, consciouses clear, letting nature take its course. It never occurred to them that I might say nothing.

We study each other for several seconds, my teeth vibrating more violently. My mind is still sharp enough to see that she's reluctant to just walk away without first satisfying her curiousity and conceptions about the evil, lying Ice Nation soldier. There's the smallest bit of doubt forming, and a tiny flicker of hope sprouts.

The next second it's extinguished. Clarke's face hardens beneath her fur lined hood. "Now I _know_ you aren't who you say you are. The commander would _never_ just give up like that."

"I'm n-not," I say through cold and sticking lips. "But _I_ know y-you aren't to be reasoned with right now. Whatever I say you'll j-just twist to your own ends. Call me a liar so you d-don't have to b-b-believe."

She narrows her eyes at me. "How do you expect me to believe such a ridiculous claim?" she hisses. "Why would the commander's spirit choose the enemy to inhabit? It would know I would instinctively distrust you!" She's getting more hysterical with every word, breath coming harshly, eyes wild. "Isn't it far more likely that this is all just an elaborate ruse to gain my trust?! To gain access to the mountain?! Is your bitch queen _that_ desperate to finish off our injured people?! To kill innocent children?!" She harshly grabs the hem of my hardening shirt. "Answer me!"

"Clarke, maybe someone else should do the interrogating," says Bellamy almost timidly, with a hand on her shoulder. "You're too close to this."

Clarke shrugs him off and snaps like a rabid wolf, "There's nothing to be close to! He's lying! He's _not_ the commander! He _can't_ be!"

"Why not?" says Raven quietly. "If you believe her spirit was reincarnated, it had to go _somewhere_." She gestures towards me, giving me an odd look. "Why not here?"

"I just told you _why_!" she screams, whirling on the startled girl. "Her spirit wouldn't have chosen a filthy Ice Nation man! It would've been reborn into one of _our_ people! Gotten a clean slate! Started over!"

"You know that's not how it works, Clarke," says Octavia solemnly. Her eyes have never once left my person. Something her increasingly agitated mentor has in common.

"Octavia is correct," says Indra. "Our people live in near constant strife. The Gods know we don't have time to wait for a new commander to become fully formed. The commanders spirit always inhabits those that are on the cusp of greatness."

"What is your position within the army?" asks Indra almost immediately afterwards, without missing a beat.

By now I am shaking so strongly and my limbs are so numb that if I weren't tied up so well, I would surely slump to the ground, unable to support my own quivering weight. My face hasn't started to burn yet, but I feel it freezing over. I'm not even sure my ice cold lips will part if I try to answer.

They do, but with difficulty. "Lord Tyrell is m-my superior," I say. My speech is not only disjointed, it's slurred. "T-t-training to be a k-knight...for the queen's p-personal guard."

No one responds for a moment and then Clarke blows up again. "Well, that just proves it! He can't be trusted! He's _hers_ through and through." She stalks over to me, looking murderous, raises an arm to strike. Indra holds it back. "What are you _doing_?!" Clarke demands. "Let me at him!"

"Beating him senseless won't accomplish anything, Clarke," says Raven. "We want answers. Not another dead guy."

She growls in frustration, tugging at Indra's grip, staring daggers at me. Eventually she concedes Raven's point, "Okay, okay! I won't beat the bastard to a pulp!" and tears her arm free. "But I won't stand around here any longer listening to his lies either! If _you_ want to freeze your asses off some more, be my guest!"

She storms off towards the largest tent. Raven shares a look with Bellamy and then she limps after the emotional girl. Even now, a small part of me wants to follow, to comfort. It's very disorienting, not unlike the growing weariness within.

The three remaining interrogators move in quite close, the slight warmth from the torch a blessing. They're all staring at me intensely, apparently trying to delve into the darkest corners of my mind telepathically. Rather than question me further, they confer amongst themselves, as if I'm not even there. And in some ways, I really am not. I am growing more lethargic by the second. My exposed skin is tingling painfully. It won't be long before the frost bite sets in and tarnishes my 'pretty little face.'

"He has her eyes," says Octavia, voice flat as always.

"Yeah, that was the first thing I noticed too," says Bellamy.

"That does not mean anything," says Indra dismissively. "Many people have green eyes."

"It's not just the colour though," says Octavia. "The overall shape is the same too."

There's some yelling coming from Clarke's tent. _Our_ _tent_ , I think dopily.

"Irrelevant," reiterates Indra, not disturbed in the least by the raised voice. "We cannot base our decision solely on his eyes."

"Can't we though?" says Octavia a little more heatedly, turning to look at her mentor. "Aren't _you_ the one that told me that every new commander has one defining physical feature?"

Indra glances sideways. "We are not basing our decision solely on his eyes. We will test him thoroughly to confirm his identity."

I'm very tired and finding it difficult to keep my troublesome eyes open. Only the intense burning of my skin is keeping me conscious. It's becoming difficult to comprehend what they are saying.

"Uh, guys?" says Bellamy.

"How?" frowns Octavia. "All the Polis conclave elders are dead...or at the very least, imprisoned and out of reach. Only _they_ know what the tests are."

"I will devise my own tests," says Indra, "and hope that he is a forgiving commander should he pass. You branwada's should have come to me first before allowing the sky girl to assault him."

"You're complaining about one punch when you went along with _this_?" she says in some bewilderment. "How does that make sense?" Indra just glares at her. "But anyway, I suppose you'd have a better idea about this commander stuff than any of _us_ would. What did you have in mind?"

"That will depend on-"

"Guys!" Bellamy yells, snapping their attention to him, and rousing me slightly. "If you don't shut up right now, there won't _be_ a commander _to_ test!"

They look to me, dead limbs straining against their bonds, head drooping forward, eyelashes almost glued shut.

"Well, don't just stand there, Bell," says Octavia in a chastising manner, "cut him loose!"

Bellamy rolls his eyes, pulls out a knife and hacks through the frozen bonds. If they had not been there to catch me, I would have dropped like a large stone, all motor capability gone. As it is, they struggle to drag my stiff, unresponsive carcass the short distance to the main tent, where the fire, and Clarke resides. I'm not sure which will burn me worse.

Both Raven and Clarke are out of view...but I know they're there behind the curtain because I can hear a hushed voice followed by a sniffle here and there. Despite being semi-conscious, I feel a sharp sting of jealousy at the thought of the two of them in bed together. _Our_ bed.

The Blake's deposit me beside the fire, in more or less the same position I was in when I collapsed.

"Remove his clothing," says Indra, while she tends to the fire, adding wood and coaxing it into a greater blaze.

They share a look, shrug, and then get to it. Or rather, _try_ to. The front of the fabric is just as stiff as my limbs, and sticking a bit to my burning flesh. If they try to pry the clothing off of me in my current state, half of my skin will come off with it. While they wait for me to thaw out a bit, Bellamy walks behind the curtain, mutters something, and then comes back with two large furs in hand. They roll me to the side like a log, deposit one underneath, and then throw the other over top.

When they do remove my clothing, I'm too out of it to care. Besides, the furs are still covering me for the most part.

However, when Indra instructs them to start massaging my bare limbs, I protest.

"T-that's n-not n-neccessary. I'm f-f-fine," I say with as much conviction as I can muster through barely yielding lips.

"Don't be a fool," she responds in her cheery manner. "That is the best way to regain circulation to your extremities." She gives me a patented Indra look. At least, I _feel_ like it is a patented Indra look. I don't remember anything about her other than the fact that she was with me that day in Polis when I surrendered myself over to the queen. They all were. "Or would you prefer they also remove their clothing and huddle under the furs _with_ you?"

For a second the proposition actually sounds tantalizing. Cut and haggard as he is, Bellamy is still attractive, and if he had a body to match his face...

" _Excuse_ me?" says Bellamy aghast, looking disgusted. "I'm _not_ going to get _naked_ with my _sister_ and some strange _guy_!"

"Who's getting naked with who now?" says Raven, pulling back the curtain.

I glance over at the crippled girl with upturned eyebrow, and then past her, towards the prone figure on the bed. She is looking back at me with puffy red eyes. I hate that she's been crying because of me, because of the memories I have inadvertently dredged up.

 _"Clarke, what's wrong?" I say as I make my way into our tent and notice she is curled up on our bed. Granted it has been a long day of strategizing with those still loyal to me and I don't doubt she is tired, but she left the war room hours ago for some fresh air, and never returned. Her shadow, Ryder, informed me of her location, otherwise I too would have left early in search of her, fearful of another pauna attack or murderous traitor._

 _She doesn't respond and I wonder if perhaps she is sleeping, but then she turns to face me, and it is clear she has been crying. Clarke rarely lets herself fall prey to such signs of weakness, so I know something particularly bad is eating away at her. I'm not very good at expressing my own emotions, though Clarke has helped me to open up these past few months together. I'll do my best to talk it through, if she wants to that is._

 _I put my sword on the side table, take off my dusty boots and then sit cross legged on the bed, grasping her hand. Since she undertook her own training, it has become considerably more calloused and like my own. I'm pleased at the thought._

 _I bring her hand to my lips and press them briefly together._

 _"What's wrong?" I ask again, cupping the side of her somewhat bruised face. I wanted to kill Octavia for training Clarke too hard, but decided against it, if only because Clarke would be mad at me._

 _Clarke raises her head and places it onto my right thigh at an upward angle so she can still look at me. I run my fingers between her available braids, directly along her scalp. She sighs in a mixture of contentment and melancholy._

 _"I'm getting scared, Lexa," she admits quietly to me._

 _I'm not entirely sure what she's talking about, though I have a good idea. I wait for her to continue._

 _"We've lost so many clans to the queen. She's got almost half of them under her control. If more defect to her side, we're going to be hard pressed to beat her when she finally declares war and openly attacks you."_

 _It's true Nia has never been so bold before, but somehow I know this time will be different. The bad blood between us will only ever be truly settled when one of us is dead. And Nia seems quite determined that I will be the one to fall. Only a fool would say they were unconcerned and brush off the matter altogether, relying on simple loyalty to win out in the end._

 _"We'll find a way to get them back before that happens," I say with more reassurance than I feel. "And then I will finally make her pay for everything she has done."_

 _"And what happens if we can't? What happens if she gets the better of us?" Clarke reaches up and places a hand to the side of my face, caressing softly. "What happens if she kills you?" she whispers, eyes shining bright._

 _Truthfully I am more afraid of Clarke's death. It is part and parcel to Nia's indirect, malicious modes of operation. She rarely attacks the desired target, but rather the person_ _next_ _to the target. I have feared this outcome ever since my attachment towards Clarke became public knowledge._

 _I cover her hand with mine, stilling the trembling fingers. I kiss them again. It's difficult, but I manage a smirk. "My spirit is staying right where it is, Clarke, just as you requested last year."_

 _She smiles back for a second and then groans, throwing a balled fist over her forehead. "This is all my fault! If I hadn't demanded you be punished for your betrayal, none of this would have ever happened! She never would have managed to plant doubt in their minds!"_

 _"That's not true, Clarke. The coalition crumbled because of the dishonourable choice_ _I_ _made. It had nothing to do with you. Whether or not you had said anything, Nia would have still found a way to manipulate them against me. It's what she does best. It's what she's been planning for years."_

 _Clarke exhales noisily. "I guess you're right."_

 _"Of course I am. I am always right."_

 _Clarke rolls her eyes, playing with a loose tendril of hair. "You promise your spirit isn't going anywhere?"_

 _She knows I can't make any such promise, but I feel the need to reassure. I hunch forward and kiss her instead, muttering 'the living are hungry.' Clarke grins against my lips, at the little inside joke we use from time to time before making love._

 _She holds my face close and pats it. "Be a doll and get me some grub."_

 _I raise an eyebrow at the strange request. She laughs. "It means food, Lexa. You're right, I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since the morning."_

 _"I believe there is some deer stew brewing," I reply, disappointed with the direction this has taken._

 _Clarke laughs again at my dour expression. "On second thought, I think I can wait a few more minutes to eat..." her eyes twinkle, "_ _food_ _."_

 _"Wise choice," I say with a wry smile as I draw her upwards towards my waiting mouth._

My eyes dilate at the erotic images dancing across my mind, images that seem as real to me now as if I had actually lived them myself. Thankfully I'm too far away for Clarke to notice my arousal, and no one else is looking directly at me.

"We need to get his core temp up," says Octavia. "It's either rub him down..." she flicks her eyes in Bellamy's scowling direction, "or naked cuddling."

Raven hazards a glance behind her at Clarke, or more precisely the direction of Clarke's gaze, and then turns back. "Better go with that first option."

When both Raven and Octavia begin to rub me down beneath the furs, I am supremely happy that I still have hypothermia.

* * *

 **Lucky frozen bastard. Jeez, I was this close to giving the commander a boner in front of everyone. I am such a perv.  
**

 **Also, why am I writing this? It's hurting my heart. Oh, right, cuz I'm a masochist.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the wait guys. I swear this is the last time I'll have two or more stories open simultaneously. Probably the only New Years Resolution I'll actually keep.  
**

* * *

Bright and early the next morning, Octavia pulls me to my feet and drags me from her tent and back over to Clarke's. The stoic warrior kept watch over me all night, never saying anything, only observing, formulating further silent impressions of me while I fitfully slept in her bed. Even asleep I am aware of her gaze, like any warrior worth their salt would be. Only a fool in such unfavourable circumstances would not sleep with one eye open. A slit throat only takes an instant. Not that they _couldn't_ still easily kill me.

My goal today is to prove my true identity to them...Clarke in particular. She will be the most stubborn, the most difficult to sway. I have no idea how to do this, but I will try my hardest to succeed. Seeing her again, for the first time, it awakened something in me, something I have never felt before. A startling and fully realized awareness of the previous commander, yes, but it was more than that. So much more than that. The mere thought of her makes me feel alive in ways that have been foreign to me for far too long.

My dreams were filled of quiet, private moments between us, where we were content to simply be with the other. I don't know if these were memories coming back to me or just my imagination taking hold. All I know is that I crave further such interactions with her, and if they happen to lead to something more...energetic, so be it. The prospect of being with a woman no longer confuses me, and if Clarke will let me somewhere down the line, I will gladly be with her in that way.

Octavia lightly shoves me into my tent to find the person ever on my mind waiting for me. Clarke is sitting in my throne again, fur lined hood drawn back revealing the full extent of her face. She is even more stunning in the light of day, and if I were not bound, and certain she would cut my hand off, I would surely try to touch her. Whatever strife she experienced last night appears to have been erased from her pleasing, irresistible features. Her face is cold and hard and unfriendly again. Though her stern look chills my blood slightly, I am glad she has managed to master herself in my presence. We will see how long that lasts.

Indra is present too, off to the side of the small fire, legs crossed on one of the furs I lay on while the girls tended to me. There are a variety of objects, clothing and weapons in front of her. My loyal general looks at me with unyielding eyes as Octavia deposits me before them, kneeling.

"Point out the items that once belonged to the previous commander," says Indra in her emotionless tone. "Only then will we begin to take your claim seriously."

Briefly my eyes flit to Clarke's, and she sits up straighter in anticipation of what will happen next. Should I fail, she will no doubt have the honour of ending my 'filthy' life. I look back to the items arrayed in front of me, taking a silent breath.

Let the testing commence.

The first item that strikes my fancy is the scrap of red material. Instinctively I know it was once much cleaner and brighter and part of a larger whole. A sash. Indra follows my eye movement and she picks up the piece I continue to stare at.

"Is this your first selection?"

I nod at the torn fabric. "Yes."

Without saying whether or not I am right, she deposits it back amongst the others and patiently waits for me to make my next choice. I know I haven't convinced them of anything. Most are aware of the commander's red sash. Besides her warpaint and forehead star, it was the most recognizable adornment, especially amongst a dully dressed crowd, or army. The star is nowhere to be found, but I knew it wouldn't be.

I was wearing it when I died.

Most of these bits and pieces don't register a reaction from me. However, my eyes remain glued to a well worn and scuffed, but otherwise pristine watch. Clarke's fathers watch. I'm somewhat surprised to see it there.

 _Other duties attended to for the moment, I make my way to the training fields. As expected, Clarke and Octavia are hard at practice, and judging by their ragged breaths and sluggish movements, have been for hours. No one can deny that Clarke learns fast but Octavia has had half a year more training from one of the strictest instructors I have ever known. Clarke couldn't hope to compete in the beginning, and yet her indomitable will kept her pushing past limits until she was just as skilled as her mentor. In a fraction of the time it took Octavia to become the hardened, skilled warrior she is today, Clarke has caught up, impressing many. Myself included. I often wonder if I am part of her drive to become better, faster every day. I know she thinks she has to prove herself in this fashion, to be a valid choice for the commanders partner, but I have never cared about what others thought about her lack of fighting prowess. I don't like seeing her get hurt, but I know training is a necessity. Not for others approval, but for survival. I am still amazed she remained relatively unscathed for three months alone in the winter wilderness without proper training._

 _They've been evenly matched for days now and I have been hoping to be present for that special occasion in which Clarke finally bests her friend in combat. They're wearing light armour and duel wielding heavy wooden carved sticks. These weapons have been specially made by a master crafter and are exact duplicates of the real things, weight and all. Using two weapons is a completely different feel than only one, your balance and momentum are severely altered. Real weapons will come into play later when they can handle this level of skill with ease. I feel slightly queasy at the thought. Clarke received a number of cuts and had many close calls when only_ _one_ _sword was involved._

 _Octavia spins around Clarke, trying to catch her off guard, but Clarke anticipates the action and pivots low to meet her blow. Their sticks clack off of each other as they turn to circle and strike again, immediately afterwards. Both are holding their sticks lower than they should be for a proper defensive stance, and it's only a matter of seconds before they drop them completely in a stalemate._

 _They know this as well as I do, so they simultaneously attack one final time, a hoarse yell emanating from Clarke. Both sets of sticks make contact with their opponents body. There is a loud crack and I am afraid Clarke's wrist has been broken. She doesn't cry out though, so I keep my place as Octavia collapses into the dirt, Clarke's blow connecting with her mentors exposed kneecaps._

 _"Nice one, Clarke," Octavia says, with a weary laugh after the cursing stops._

 _Senses more honed than they once were, Clarke knows I am watching her and turns to face me with a tired, but exceptionally pleased expression. I smile slightly as I approach. Our intimate relationship is still quite new. I have the urge to hug her but don't, not while a cluster of warriors, and Indra look on. Instead I clasp my hands together in front._

 _Clarke feebly holds up the sticks, not even reaching hip level, and rasps, "You wanna take me on, commander?" She winks. "I'm totally ready for round two."_

 _"Yes, I can see that, Clarke," I reply. I am about to congratulate her on her accomplishment when I notice the tiny broken shards of glass milling about her feet._

 _Clarke follows my gaze, drops her sticks and yanks back her sleeve. She curses profusely in Trigedasleng at the smashed face of her watch and the dent in the side. I would be amused that the first words she has learned are inappropriate for polite company, but I am just as distressed as Clarke, though I hide it much better._

 _There are angry tears in her eyes as she says, "I can't believe I forgot to take it off!"_

 _"Oh shit, I'm so sorry, Clarke!" exclaims Octavia, scrambling to her feet when she realizes what she inadvertently did._

 _Ignoring her completely, Clarke stalks off and I follow._

 _I know how precious a deceased loved ones final present is and how devastating it can be to lose or damage said gift. If the dagger Anya gave me ever got destroyed, I would be inconsolable...privately at least. I take Clarke aside, away from prying eyes and give her the embrace I was wanting to before. Her tears are hot on my neck._

 _"We will get it fixed, Clarke," I tell her in a soothing voice as I stroke her hair. "It will be good as new once you hand it over to a skilled crafter."_

 _Clarke pulls away to frown. "I'm not giving it to someone else. They'll just make it worse!"_

 _"Clarke, the only way to fix-"_

 _"I'm never letting it out of my sight again!"_

 _I don't push the subject further right then because I know she will do whatever she must to restore her fathers last token of affection when she is in a more logical frame of mind._

Indra is holding up the watch. "Is this your second selection?"

"No," I say shaking my exhilarated head. It doesn't matter what the memory is about, it always leaves me feeling slightly breathless and like I am flying.

I hazard another glance at Clarke and she is looking at me tight lipped, jaw clenched. I return my attention to the cluster of things, trying to pinpoint something else that used to be mine. There are some odd looking trinkets and weapons, that _seem_ like the sort of thing the commander would be given, but they don't speak to me in any way. There is however a plain looking metal cup that _does_.

"The cup," I say without attempting to find confirmation in anyone's eyes. I know I'm right and just go straight for the next thing. A ratty book.

"The Call of the Wild," I say, looking at the barely legible text on the leather binding.

This time there is a visible reaction from Indra, as well as Clarke.

Indra's eyes widen slightly, before looking up at Octavia, who still stands just behind me. Whatever silent interaction goes on there results in Indra clearing her throat and saying, "You can read."

"I can also write."

Clarke is agitated again and stands up from my throne. "None of this proves anything," she grumbles. "It's not completely unheard of for an Ice Nation soldier to be literate." She gestures to me angrily. "And he's a fairly high ranking one so it makes sense he would've learned the basics."

"Come on, Clarke," says Octavia in equally harsh tones, "you know that's not likely. The queen doesn't like her drones to be able to think for themselves. Makes it harder to control them."

Clarke stalks over to me, towering above. I brace for the next blow to the side of the head. It doesn't come.

"I bet she taught you how to read in her private study. The one you stole from the commander. I bet you two were nice and cozy and fu-"

"I'm not interested in women," I say without thinking.

Clarke blinks a few times at that revelation. That erroneous revelation. "You're not?" she says quietly, almost like she is upset for a completely different reason.

Before I can clarify, the newly acquired part of me, lets be clear now, _Lexa_ , makes me bite my tongue. I'm confused as to why the commander wouldn't want me to ease her – _our_ woman's mind. The answer comes swiftly.

Indra says, "That is to be expected. All commanders are - I believe the word your people would use is – gay."

 _Oh. Right. I knew that_.

"How come?" says Octavia.

"Commanders are not supposed to have a bloodline," says Indra, studying me with more interest than she heretofore has. "It's strictly prohibited. Their legacy must only be passed on through the wisdom and knowledge imparted to their next chosen vessel. Anything else, even adoption, would result in the same troublesome dynasty the queen has been a part of for over fifty years."

I feel strangely dejected at the idea that I'm not allowed to have children. Part of me already knew this information, and I never once considered the notion before my 'change' but now that I can actually picture myself with a woman, I have the urge to try to have some children. Specifically with Clarke.

"That doesn't seem very fair," says Octavia.

I heartily agree.

"It is necessary," says Indra. Without missing a beat, "Do you wish to choose any other items from the selection? Any of the weapons, perhaps?"

I scan once more, quickly, and shake my head. I am about to say that my sword and dagger are currently displayed in the queen's study, but some common sense returns to me just in time and Clarke _doesn't_ punch me upside the head again.

"Very well then," says Indra with a curt nod. She rises. "We are done here for now. Test two will commence shortly."

"You good to be alone with him?" says Octavia.

Clarke cocks her head to the side and nods.

I hear two sets of boot treads leave and just like that I am now alone with Clarke for the very first time since coming here. Despite my desire to be near her, I'm not entirely sure that's a good thing. We stare at each other for a bit and then she hunches down and retrieves her fathers watch. She slips it back onto her wrist and then picks up the items I selected.

"Lucky guesses," she mutters to herself before returning them to a small trunk by the foot of the bed. The curtain is partially obscuring, so I'm not positive, but I think I see her placing a reverent kiss to the cup as she does so. She shoots a glare at me when she sees me watching her and I avert my gaze.

Clarke moves back to my throne, sits, and says, "You might have fooled _them_ , but _I'm_ not buying any of it. Sooner or later you'll slip up," she smiles eerily, in a not entirely sane way, "and when you do," she stabs a dagger into the wooden armrest, twisting, "I'll end you."

Yes, Clarke was going to be very troublesome indeed.

* * *

 **Clarke's gone a bit cra cra but I don't really blame her.**

 **Also, the 'plain' cup is kind of an Indiana Jones ref. Like the Holy Grail.**

 **Next chap things heat up a bit. :D**

 **Anyway, Happy New Year!**


	4. Chapter 4

It's cloudy and the sun is barely visible this morning and the wind shakes the snow off the trees, but it is still much warmer than it was last night. I hope to never be that cold again. I am appreciative of the gloves someone has provided me with, and my furs are once more in place. I am standing near my tent, in full view of the tree they tortured me on. My wrist bonds have been cut and I now have full mobility. Except for Raven and some nameless others - who are keeping watch on their camp up in the trees - everyone is present. Octavia, Bellamy and Clarke are unarmed.

Indra stares me down in that no nonsense manner she is famous for. No one bothers explaining what is going on, and no one needs to. I understand that they wish to test my fighting skills, my movements, and are looking for similarities between my own and Lexa's. They aren't foolish enough to actually arm me, so it will be hand to hand combat instead, something I excel at, especially when Velest is my partner. For the first time I wonder what she is thinking about my disappearance, if she is worrying about my death. I feel ashamed I have barely thought of her since Clarke has invaded my thoughts.

Before I can think on this further, they are coming at me. All three of them at once. Hardly fair odds, but not completely impossible. I dodge Octavia's punch and hold out an arm to block Bellamy's. Clarke is particularly vicious and gets me in the side, a blind spot, before I can stop her. She smirks at me, clearly enjoying my pain and then comes at me again. Her second blow aimed at my shins, I evade, and simultaneously block both of the Blake's attempts. I continue to weave and dodge, to block, always on the defensive. They are coming at me too continuously to be able to do anything else, but I know the test will not be complete until I actually fight back. I don't want to hurt any of them, specifically Clarke, but I don't have a choice in the matter.

I pretend to slip on the packed down, somewhat slick snow, but instead pivot low and kick Octavia's legs out from under her. She hits the ground hard like she did while facing off against Clarke all those months ago, and for a brief time I only have two opponents. I hit Bellamy hard in the gut and while he is winded, I turn to face Clarke and she socks me in the face before I can react. My cut lip is bleeding and dribbling down my chin while Clarke starts ferociously attacking like a wild animal. All fire and rage and no tactic. It isn't long before I manage to sidestep her and secure both of her flailing arms to her sides from behind, in a bear hug. She thrashes around, screaming, head butting me backwards in the nose. I can hear it crack, feel more blood gushing down my face.

Still, despite the sharp pain, I refuse to let go, hoping somehow our closeness will quell the beast and she'll look at me like an actual person again, like she did for several minutes last night before turning away. Perhaps this tactic might have worked had I had more time to hold her. As it is, the Blake's are now recovered and charging me, intent on freeing their companion. I let go of Clarke and prepare for the next onslaught, but Indra halts us all with her commanding voice.

"Em pleni!"

At least, she manages to halt Octavia and Bellamy. Clarke is heedless to anything except the urge, the need to rip me apart. She whirls around, knocking me to the ground by throwing herself at me, snow and hair flying everywhere. Without missing a beat, she begins beating me senseless. Even without the iron knuckles, her blows are fierce and incapacitating. I've fought many a larger warrior than her, but her overpowering strength is fueled by grief and madness. It takes all three of them to pull her off me and keep her at bay.

My ears are ringing. I groan, turn on my side and spit out some blood...and part of a tooth. My tongue glides along until it locates the damaged organ, one of my upper right molars. Being predominately left handed it makes sense that she would hit that side with the most force. My face is mostly numb. Numbness is better than pain, but I know it's only a matter of time until my mind catches up to my bodies hurts.

"Clarke, stop it!" yells Bellamy. "It's over!"

"It's over when I _say_ it's over!" snarls Clarke, thrashing in their combined grasps.

She is completely unreachable right now. They do the only thing they can do to calm her down. They knock her out.

Indra hits her in the side of the head with the pommel of her sword and she slumps forward in the Blake's holds on either arm. I wince in reciprocation, keenly aware of just how puffy my eyes have become. They will be black and bruised and it will be some time before I can see out of them properly again.

While they drag her back to her tent, Indra comes over and helps me to my feet. The action leaves me light headed but I attempt to remain upright, unaided, regardless. Indra is no fool and holds me by the shoulders and simply looks at me, her face showing the slightest signs of worry and anger. Which in Indra terms means she is massively pissed. At Clarke. I hope she doesn't do anything to her. I open my mouth to say as much, but all that comes out is another groan.

She sets me down by a tree when I stagger. Then she stands back and stares at me some more.

"You didn't defend yourself against her. You could have, but you didn't. You wouldn't strike her. You called her by her real name." Indra squints slightly. "Something...unusual is happening here." She rests her hand on her sword handle. "Are you remembering?"

Nothing inside tells me to be dishonest, so I nod once.

Indra tenses at this revelation. "You aren't supposed to remember your past life."

Does this mean she believes me then?

"This development could prove...problematic." She shifts, hunches down in front of me. "You lied to us before. You feel something for Clarke."

I don't deny it. Indra swears under her breath. "And this is precisely why emotional attachments are discouraged for the commander. You weren't supposed to show such weakness. But you did. Twice."

I shrug.

Indra sighs and helps me to my feet again. We trudge towards yet another tent, my legs feel heavy and useless. My face is beginning to throb all over.

"You were always different. Perhaps that is why I preferred you to all the others."

"You did?" I mumble, surprised at the confession.

Indra stiffens at my words and doesn't acknowledge them. I wonder if she meant to say that out loud or if she was lost in thought. Its been an eventful day so far.

She sits me on a bed, presumably _her_ bed, and retrieves a pouch from a saddlebag. Then without a word she opens it, pulls out some scraps of gray cloth and begins cleaning my wounds.

 _"Lexa, I'm ba-" Clarke stops mid sentence when she sees the state of my face. Indra was putting on a final dab of red paste that will help reduce swelling and scarring, but stops upon her arrival, looks between us, stands up and leaves our home._

 _Over her shock now, she rushes over to my side and drops her medical bag. She had just been tending to several injuries throughout Polis. Occupying Indra's seat, she reaches out a hand to tentatively touch my damaged flesh. The concern is evident in every feature. I feel a rush of affection towards her for caring so deeply about me._

 _"Lexa, what the hell happened?! I was only gone for a few hours!"_

 _I am hesitant to respond, so she takes one of my hands and squeezes, tries to relieve my tension._

 _"It's not important," I mutter, glancing away, feebly attempting to brush the matter aside. Since I am incapable of lying to her, it is best to say nothing at all. "I'm fine."_

 _Clarke frowns, clearly not impressed with my cavalier attitude. She stands up, hands on hips. "Alexandria kom Trikru, you will tell me what happened right this instant!"_

 _I flinch at her authoritative tone. When she uses my full name like that, I know I am in trouble. Under her piercing blue stare, I feel like a naughty child, and far from the leader of thirteen clans. Knowing there is no way out of telling her the truth, I sigh._

 _"It was-"_

 _"Murphy," says Clarke, jumping to conclusions. "I knew we couldn't trust that bastard! Where is he, huh? Strung up to the cutting tree I hope. He better not be dead yet 'cause I want that pleasure!"_

 _She is half way to the door before I manage to stop her. "It wasn't Murphy. It was an accident."_

 _"An accident?" she mutters incredulously, turning around again, eyebrows raised. "What kind of accident leaves your face looking like that?"_

 _"I fell," I mutter, too ashamed to maintain eye contact. "Down the stairs."_

 _"You what?"_

 _I'm not sure whether she didn't hear me or whether she didn't comprehend. I really don't want to repeat myself, or be having this embarrassing conversation._

 _Clarke moves closer and repeats my words. "_ _You_ _fell down the stairs?_ _You_ _? You're one of the most coordinated people I know, Lexa. How is that possible?"_

 _"I tripped...on my sash," I mumble, flushing at my own stupidity. My arms had been laden with a pile of books I wanted to show Clarke, so when I fell, I couldn't protect myself with my arms in time._

 _"Your sash," she says, staring at the torn edge dangling from my side. "You tripped on your sash?"_

 _"Yes," I say with a bit of heat, getting annoyed at her parroting everything back at me._

 _We stare at each other for another moment and then Clarke bursts into laughter. I clench my fists, face sour. I don't like being laughed at. It's not something I am accustomed to. If it were anyone else, I would have stabbed them by now._

 _She sees my expression through her tears of joy and quickly clams up. She takes my hand again. "I'm sorry. It's not funny," she says, biting her lip and looking like she is about to laugh some more. I glare at her, even though my cheeks burn. Another few seconds and she has mastered herself. "I'm glad you're okay, Lexa. That kind of fall can be fatal."_

 _I don't say anything and just glower. She kisses the tip of my nose, practically the only part that doesn't feel broken. "What are you going to tell them?"_

 _"Who?" I say feeling exceptionally slow, wondering if I suffered brain damage._

 _Clarke rolls her eyes. "Your people. You can't tell them the truth."_

 _She looks merry again and not for the first time I have the urge to strangle her. But of course I know I could never lay a violent hand on her even if my life depended on it. She has stolen my heart too completely.  
_

 _"I haven't thought that far ahead yet, Clarke," I grumble._

 _Clarke smiles compassionately, touches my shoulder gingerly. "Don't worry, Lexa, we'll come up with a badass explanation of what happened to you. Like...you defeated a pauna singlehandedly!"_

I must be smiling to myself because Indra is looking at me curiously. Most would not be in a very good mood after getting beat up to the extent that I was. I school my vandalized features and we sit in silence until Indra finishes applying the same red paste she used on me back in Polis.

"You shouldn't scar," she says, standing up and putting the supplies away. "I assume you won't give me permission to cut, or otherwise maim her."

"No," I say, calmly enough, though I feel queasy at the thought of her lightly tanned porcelain skin being tainted.

Indra stares at me some more, shakes her head. "We will just have to keep you two apart until she comes to terms with what happened to the previous commander."

It's only been a little over a week since 'I' died. Of course she isn't okay yet. Nor did I expect her to be. If she feels half as strongly for me as I do for her, she might never be ready to accept it. I steel myself with an echo from the past.

 _It takes as long as it takes._

"The testing is finished?" I ask. I had been expecting more than this. But if she is tending to my hurts and asking my permission, then clearly she has little doubt as to my identity.

"I've seen what I needed to see," she replies. "However, if-"

There is some static reception and then Raven's voice chirps to life around Indra's midsection.

"We've got company from the South-West."

Indra removes the walkie talkie, perhaps the same one they used to trick and assassinate my comrades not sixteen hours ago.

"Elaborate," she says, free hand going to her sword.

I am far from feeling ready to participate in another fight, but if I must, I must.

"One bogey on horseback. Hoods up. Can't see their face. Stand by."

Rather than listen to that command, Indra sweeps out of the tent and I push myself up to follow, ignoring another bout of lightheadedness. She gestures to Bellamy and Octavia, who had been conversing quietly amongst themselves. They look to me and Indra just nods, and the four of us form a barrier between the opening in the trees. The Blake's have since armed themselves. I am the only one here who is completely useless. Though if there is only one assailant headed our way, the three of them should be able to handle it without my assistance.

Whoever it is is not bothering to be quiet about their approach. I can hear them long before I can see them. When they see us waiting for them, they slow and dismount. Bellamy is already slinging his gun around his back and smiling. Clearly he doesn't deem them a threat. The others are similarly putting their weapons away.

"Hey, is everything okay, or what?" says Raven. …."Hello? Can you hear me?"..."I'm taking the lack of response to mean you're all dead."... "It's a shame really, I was actually starting to like you Indra."

"We are fine, branwada," hisses Indra into the walkie talkie.

"Well, shit, don't you say the sweetest things."

Indra rolls her eyes.

Bellamy embraces the woman, who's face is still obscured by the hood. Octavia tenses, turns, and heads back into camp.

"You're early," Bellamy says. "Wasn't expecting you for another day."

"What can I say," says a familiar sounding voice, "I got lucky."

Bellamy grins. "Good, 'cause I'm starving."

I now notice the foxes and rabbits slung against the back of the two headed horse.

They pull back to kiss, and then holding each others gloved hand they move into camp. Finally I catch a good glimpse of her face. My swollen eyes widen in recognition.

"Echo?" I say.

She had been staring at me too. She squints now. "Enos?" she says flabbergasted, dropping Bellamy's hand. Considering the state of my face and the lack of beard, I'm almost surprised she recognizes me. "What are you doing here?"

Bellamy and Indra look between us. "You know each other?" says Bellamy with a frown.

Echo mimics his expression and I'm wondering if she might punch me as well. "We used to," she says, crossing her arms. "He's my cousin."

"You're kidding," says Bellamy. He runs a hand through his shaggy mane. "Small world."

"I thought you were dead," I say, taking a tentative step closer.

Over a year ago I heard from my uncle that she had disappeared, most likely captured by the mountain men. And everyone knew you didn't survive that. The really weird thing was that I was present that night the previous commander made the deal, and we retreated. Guess I was too far back to see Echo's release.

"I thought I was dead too," she takes Bellamy's hand again, "but then he saved me."

I observe them for a bit. "So this is why you never came home? Why you made your father grieve for you?"

Echo scowls. "He was no more my father than you are my cousin."

I'm not surprised at this animosity. Echo had been discretely questioning the queen's motives for years before she was captured. Somehow she saw what most of us couldn't, what I only could once Lexa showed me. That the queen was a manipulative, power hungry bitch who didn't care about anyone except for herself (and her son).

And she's right again. I'm not her cousin anymore. Not really.

But perhaps that's a good thing.

* * *

 **Clarke has zero chill. Holy moly.**

 **We all know Lexa is challenged when it comes to heights...so naturally she would fall down the stairs while being a nerd. Lmao.**

 **Ah, Raven, you crack me up. I may or may not have purposely quoted a bit of the Adele song. Lol.**

 **Honestly, the only reason Echo is his cousin is cuz they're both Ice Nation. :p**


	5. Chapter 5

"No, I don't believe it," Echo says. She is staring at me like I'm not quite human. I'm starting to get annoyed by people doing that. Was I such a terrible person before that no one believes I deserve this fate?

There is a crackle from the fire roasting a skinned fox and two rabbits. The flames grow hot, blowing sideways as another gust of icy wind races past, both stinging and soothing the myriad of cuts and bruises on my face. Bellamy sits on the log beside her and his shaggy hair whips into his eyes. Not unlike my own black tresses. My braided beard may be gone but my thick shoulder length hair is still intact.

The meat smells delicious and my damaged mouth waters. I haven't eaten since mid day yesterday. And even if I am offered any food, I'm not sure I can eat it. Indra keeps silent watch nearby. I haven't seen Octavia since she went back into camp. I assume she is checking up on Clarke, who is most likely conscious again and very pissed that I'm still alive.

"Indra tested him herself," says Bellamy, placing a hand on her knee. "She's reasonably certain."

Echo looks to Indra who just nods once in confirmation. She eyes me some more. "You're really the commander? You? The queen's lackey? The boy who wanted nothing more than to serve her his whole life? Who thought he was in love with her until he realized he didn't like girls that way?"

"That isn't me anymore," I say patiently, even though every movement of my jaw hurts. My voice is muffled, foreign. I can hardly understand myself, but everyone else seems to be managing okay. "I'm different now. I finally see what you have for so long. I don't know how I was so blind."

"It's what Nia does," Echo says after a lengthy pause. "She's very skilled at brainwashing." She smirks ever so slightly, though the humour doesn't reach her eyes. "Something men have always been more susceptible to."

I return the look. Bellamy is making an aggrieved face, side eyeing Echo.

"Yes, I suppose so. It definitely explains a lot of unusual behaviour."

She studies me for a bit, looks at me more earnestly. "You're really the commander?"

I dip my head. "I am, and I want to right wrongs. I want to end this war once and for all. Bring peace back to the realm."

"How noble of you," says a gruff voice from behind.

I tense and pivot around from my own log to find Clarke scowling at me. Octavia is close at hand, in case Clarke decides to fling herself at me again. Indra shoots an annoyed look at Octavia, to which she just shrugs, as if to say, 'you try stopping her.'

Clarke moves closer to the fire, glares at Echo. "You're really buying this crap? You're _from_ The Ice Nation. You know how the queen operates. She's just trying to infiltrate our ranks so that she can finish us off from the inside."

It makes sense she would think this. That is precisely how we got the upper hand in Polis. One of Lexa's people betrayed her and opened the main gate, allowing our combined forces in to wreak havoc. If not for the stalemate, with Nia's precious cargo in danger, they all would have been wiped out.

"I bet the next thing he's going to suggest is that we take him to the mountain so that we can regroup and strategize. But really he just wants to see how to get in."

I don't need her to tell me. I already know. Or I _think_ I do anyway. Telling her this would be counterproductive to my actual plan and would surely have her attacking me again...though that is precisely what I want.

"Actually," I say, staring her dead in the eye, "I was hoping you would beat me up some more."

This pronouncement garners stunned silence and then a lot of puzzled expressions.

"What are you playing at, Enos?" Clarke asks, clenching a fist. I wonder if it hurts as much as my face does. "Is this a game to you?"

I push off the log to stand before her. There's only a few feet separating us. The others tense, anticipating another brawl. Indra in particular looks very annoyed. So much for staying away from each other.

"We want the same thing, Clarke." She furrows her brow further when I use her name but otherwise doesn't threaten me in any way. Progress. "We both want the queen dead."

"I don't see how me beating you up some more accomplishes that." There's no apology in her tone, but her eyes skirt over the damage once and there's a slight shifting of feet.

"We'll use her own tactics against her," I say. "Make me your Trojan horse."

"No," says Clarke, tight lipped, finally understanding. She crosses her arms...perhaps to comfort herself?

"It's the only way you're ever going to get at her. Send me back to Polis and I'll assassinate her. Her _and_ her son."

"And then what?" says Clarke, eyes shining fiercely.

"And then the Ice dynasty falls and they're left leaderless. During this chaos and confusion I'll let your people in and you can reclaim Polis."

"That's an awful lot of faith to put onto one person," says Bellamy.

For some reason I find this highly ironic.

"Especially one we don't know if we can trust," says Echo.

"You wanted information from me before," I say, still focusing intently on Clarke. She seems to be frozen in place. "What was it?"

"We wanted to know the queen's outdoor movements within Polis," says Octavia, when Clarke doesn't respond.

"What the hell, O!" exclaims Bellamy, hopping to his feet. "Why'd you tell him that?"

I ignore this outburst and nod. "You were planning on assassinating her from a distance." I look up into the trees. "Using a sniper rifle."

They are uneasy now and I know I'm right. I press on. "That wouldn't have worked. The walls are twenty feet high and there's no clear line of sight close enough by from the treetops. And even if you somehow managed to make the shot, it wouldn't change anything. You'd still be locked out." I take tiny steps closer to Clarke who is practically looking through me. "You have to send me back in."

"No," says Clarke again, though with less conviction.

"Do you know what she's doing to them? To all of the citizens who survived the siege? She's got them herded into one small area, like vermin, under constant surveillance. She purposely feeds them too little so that they don't have the strength to fight back. Not that that really matters. Many of them are elders and children. They cry for their mothers everyday. But no one helps them."

How I was okay with this before my change, I don't know. I must have been lacking in compassion to a great extent, something that Clarke has never had an issue with, which is currently why she is in great distress.

She is breathing hard, backing away from me. I hate riling her up like this but it is necessary. I may be the commander, but she's still in charge. What she says, goes. Octavia holds out a hand, keeping me at bay.

I send my message home with one final punch to the gut. "It's the mountain all over again, Clarke."

And just as if I had actually punched her, she drops to her knees, thrusting her hands over her ears, as if to stop the old demons from entering. "No!"

I feel terrible for what I have done and attempt to comfort her.

"You need to back off now, Enos," says Octavia, getting in my way before I can kneel down beside her.

Octavia helps Clarke to her feet and leads her back into her tent. I watch until the flaps swing closed behind them.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" demands Bellamy, shoving me hard in the chest. I stagger back slightly. "She's been through enough already! How dare you make her relive that!"

Echo and Indra watch our altercation dispassionately.

"I only did what I must," I say, readying for another fight.

"Screw that!" he snarls. "Clarke's right! You're just messing with us!" His hand reaches behind, where his gun resides. Suddenly the barrel of an assault rifle is pointing in my face. Another memory returns and I know it's the first time anyone has dared do this to me since the misunderstanding in the drop ship. Though this is at considerably closer range. Just like then my pulse quickens.

"Bellamy!" exclaims Echo, the last of us on our feet. "What are you doing?!"

Heedless to her query he continues, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just put a bullet in your head right now!"

"Because you will not live long enough to see his demise," says Indra in her most dangerous whisper. Courtesy of my peripheral vision, I see she has a spear in hand, ready to throw the instant he pulls the trigger.

"Bellamy, put the gun down!" yells Echo, right by his side. She seems hesitant to touch him, afraid to set him off.

He howls in frustration, like the wind gusting around, but does as she says. Echo leads him away too, all the while he murders me with his eyes.

It's just me and Indra again, the only one here who seems to be able to tolerate my presence. She thrusts the spear in the snow and comes over. Without a word she pulls out a dagger and fluidly slices off a small, thin piece of meat.

This she holds out to me and says, "Eat. You're going to need your strength before the torture commences."

I've never been physically tortured before, in this life or the last...and I am not looking forward to it. But it is necessary, so I will bear it so that Clarke won't have to think of any more innocent lives being extinguished because of a cruel tyrant.

Sitting down, I more or less have to suck on the meat since my gums are too sore for anything more vigorous.

"You agree with my plan then?" I needlessly ask.

Indra joins me in a light repast. "I believe the commanders spirit chose you for a reason. Killing that natrona nomonjoka seems most likely."

It's somewhat startling to hear my...I mean, _the_ queen being disrespected so vulgarly.

I let my ample saliva soften up the meat a little longer before saying, "And you're not the least bit worried I might tell her how to get into the mountain?"

"Should I be?" Indra says with a pointed stare after swallowing.

I hold her gaze. "No, I would never do that...at least, not willingly."

Indra nods and we finish our meal in silence. She cleans her blade off in the snow and stands. "Where would you like me to cut you?"

She's in the process of slicing my side when Clarke shows up again, Octavia, Bellamy and Echo in tow. "Stop that," she commands, eyes glued to the blood and torn clothing. Indra ignores her, continues to cut into me. "I said, stop it!"

Indra looks over and calmly says, "You are not my commander any longer."

The small group of warriors bristle at this declaration. Clarke pulls out her sword, the draw purposely slow and exaggerated.

"If I'm to act like an escaped prisoner, Clarke," I say, hoping to prevent anyone's bloodshed beside my own, "I need to look the part."

"I never agreed to that ridiculous plan," she says, pointing the blade at Indra. "Now stop."

My ever faithful general looks to me and I dip my head once, sighing quietly. She steps back, but doesn't put the bloodied dagger away. I move to face Clarke once more who has lowered her sword arm. The others relax.

"Clarke, I have to do this," I say. "It's the only way-"

"It's _not_ the only way," she interjects forcefully, lip trembling ever so slightly. "There's always another way. And _I'm_ it," she says determinedly.

"I don't understand," I say with a frown, instinctively not liking where this was going. "What do you mean?"

Judging by their expressions, I'm not the only one who is confused.

"I know you have orders to capture me alive, so that's what you're going to do, Enos."

It's my turn to be adamantly against a plan. "No," I say firmly.

"Yeah, I'm with Enos, Clarke," says Echo. "That's not happening."

Just as I did, Clarke holds my gaze, refuses to look away or back down at all. "There's no way you can pull those assassinations off by yourself. Especially not while injured. You need help. So I'm going to help you. _I'm_ going to be the one who strangles Nia until she takes her last breath." She's practically in my face when she says, "Not _you_."

Something about this situation is familiar. Perhaps it is only the words. In any case, the hatred in her eyes is unsettling. Almost physically hurts.

"Clarke, stop to think for a second," pleads Bellamy, coming over to talk to her side. "We can't trust him. You said it yourself. He's playing us. This is exactly what he wants you to do."

Her eyes flit to his for a second before landing back on my puffy slits. She smiles in that creepy way again. "If he's playing me, I'll kill him too."

The sincerity of this statement takes my breath away.

"Clarke this is crazy, you can't-"

"Don't tell me what I can or can't do, Bellamy!" she snaps.

He holds up his hands in surrender. "Okay, fine, I won't...but at least let me come with you."

"No," she says. "I'm not putting anyone else in danger."

"Clarke-"

"I SAID NO!" she yells, finally whirling on him. A couple of hardy birds make themselves known, spiraling away into the cloudy sky. She takes a shaky breath, eyes on the ground. Somewhat more calmly she says as if to herself, "It has to be me. Just me."

There's some static on the walkie talkie still in Indra's possession. "What's going on?" asks Raven. "What's with all the yelling?"

Despite myself I say, "She's right." Everyone's attention comes crashing back to me. "I only have those orders for Clarke. If I bring anyone else with, they'll be suspicious. And that's the _last_ thing we can afford if we want this to work."

"Hello?" says Raven.

"Oh of _course_ you're changing your tune now that she suggested it!" accuses Bellamy. "Why am I not surprised? I mean, if you are who you say you are, how come you didn't just kill the queen when you had the chance?!"

"Seriously guys, this is getting old," says Raven.

"I didn't know who I was then," I say simply, standing my ground. It wasn't until I looked into Clarke's eyes that I truly understood.

"How convenient," he growls.

"Screw this," says Raven, "I'm coming down."

I sigh, focusing on Clarke, hoping she'll see I genuinely mean it. "I don't want her to do this any more than you do, Bellamy." The idea of putting Clarke in that much danger makes my stomach twist in knots, makes me feel a terrible and unceasing dread, makes me want to throw her on a horse and ride away from all of this madness and never return. An urge I think I had on more than one occasion in my past life. "But she's set her mind on it...and I can't begrudge her the right to enact vengeance against the queen. She's earned that much." _And so much more_.

Clarke blinks and then looks at me for a few seconds, as if seeing me clearly for the first time. The moment quickly passes, her hard exterior reforming impenetrable walls. Not unlike Polis itself.

"You're both insane," mutters Bellamy, stalking off. This time Echo doesn't go after him. "You're really serious about this then," she says after an awkward pause.

We both nod, still staring at one another impassively. On the outside at least.

"It is decided then," says Indra. "Let us begin preparations."

* * *

Needless to say, Raven is not too enthused by this turn of events and acts in a similar manner to Bellamy. I can hear their heated conversation from outside of the tent while I ready my borrowed supplies, things I would have taken for my own personal gain after killing everyone in the camp.

"Your mom made me promise to look after you! Make sure you didn't do something stupid! This is beyond stupid, Clarke! Can't you see that?!"

"This is my decision to make, Raven, not yours! Everyone's been babying me since...since it happened." A short pause. "And I'm tired of it! I'm tired of sitting here doing nothing while that bitch just keeps on breathing! I can't stand it!"

"I get that, Clarke, believe me I do, but this is _not_ the way to do things! We still don't know if we can trust this guy, Clarke! And even if we _can_ , there's still a good chance this will all go to shit!"

"I don't care!"

"And that's the problem, Clarke! You don't care about your own well being! But I do! I don't want to lose you too! I can't!"

"I'm not changing my mind! I'm going whether you like it or not!"

"I won't let you! I'll tie you up if I have to!"

"I'd like to see you try, cripple girl!"

There's a stunned silence that extends far beyond the interior of the tent. "Screw you, Clarke!" Raven screams, a loud slap sounding. The next second Raven is bursting through the tent flaps. She spots me and storms over as fast as her disability will allow on the slick snow. She looks as dangerous as a panther. I stop doing what I'm doing and brace for impact. "You better get her through this thing alive or I _will_ find you and blow you up! I'll blow you _all_ up! I'll burn Polis to the fucking ground!"

In that moment, I don't doubt it.

She storms off again and a short while later Clarke makes an appearance. Her face is still red where Raven slapped her. She comes over and without any preamble says, "Punch me."

"Excuse me?"

She huffs in annoyance. "I'm your fake prisoner. You had to subdue me. Punch me."

"I really don't think that's-"

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" she demands, shoving me like Bellamy did. "I beat the crap out of you! Stop being a gentleman and punch me!"

I look around helplessly at the others nearby, catching the eye of Indra. She rolls her eyes and approaches. Clarke turns at the crunching of snow, "What do you wan-"

My general gives her a good wallop across the face and I have to bite my lip to stop from laughing. I'm surprised at my reaction, but her surprised expression is priceless as she falls over from the impact.

"Well at least someone has some balls around here," says Clarke from the snow after she's over her shock. Despite her cut lip, she's apparently in a good mood now, grinning up at Indra. "How long have you wanted to do that?"

Indra is smiling faintly and that is all the answer needed.

I extend a hand to help her up but she brushes it aside and gets to her feet unaided.

A few minutes later, everyone is hugging Clarke goodbye, some lingering longer than others. Then she looks to me and says, "Let's go."

* * *

 **So much for staying away from each other, indeed.**


	6. Chapter 6

We walk in silence. As much for the reason that it really hurts to talk, as for avoiding setting her off again. I need her to stay calm and collected and that will only become harder the closer we get to Polis. A part of me wishes I had tried harder to prevent her from doing this, heading towards so much danger when she is so unstable and broken. But Clarke is the most fiercely stubborn person I have met in a long time and I know as well as her friends that resistance is futile. I'll just have to keep my word to Raven and make sure nothing bad happens to her.

I also wonder why she's here. Is it solely for the opportunity to strangle Nia and avenge Lexa's death? Or is there more to it? Is there some part of her that's afraid to see me get hurt? Does she secretly believe I am the commander? Is that why she's putting so much faith in me? Because the fact of the matter is, I could easily turn traitor the moment the gate closes behind us. Sure she's a lion herself, but this is a den teeming with them, and she can't hope to survive if they all strike.

"Stop doing that," she says tersely, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Doing what?" I say, slightly behind and off to the side of her bound wrists. They aren't tied as tightly as they should be, so she can slip out with relative ease at a moment's notice. And she's got a dagger up her sleeve to be utilized immediately afterwards. The hope of course is that none of the gate guards will 'pat' her down and will simply take my word that I have already searched her for concealed weapons. To be honest, an awful lot of the plan is riding on this and it makes me uneasy.

I can sense the irritated eye roll as she says, "Staring. You've been staring at the back of my head this entire time. Maybe, just maybe, you should pay attention to where we're going."

Embarrassed at being caught out at something I wasn't even aware I was doing, I clear my throat and promptly set my sights on the distance. We've recently left the forest and are now in open plains covered in freshly fallen snow, snow that currently whirls around our faces every few seconds, collecting on our hoods. Even through this gauzy haze, Polis can be detected. If only by its massive, imposing shadow.

The mere sight of our destination sets my heart racing. We'll be there within the hour and once we are, there'll be no one to help us, only each other. And we haven't exactly made a great team thus far. Not to mention Clarke might just fly off the handle before it's time to act. If anyone should be lacking in faith, it's me, not the other way around. And yet, I have complete faith in her ability to pull this off. Or at least, a part of me trusts her implicitly. Whether that's to my detriment or not will be discovered soon enough.

At the gate, two guards stand tall and menacing, bone face masks in place. They're both holding spears. These they point out to prevent further progress.

"Halt," says one. I think his name might be Ferl. "Who goes there?"

"It's me, Enos," I say, removing my hood, "returned from my reconnaissance mission." I pull back Clarke's hood too, her braids spill forth. "As ordered, I've captured the Wanheda."

They mutter between themselves and then retrieve their spears, pointing to the darkened skies again. The silent female guard bangs on the thick metal of the gate, clamouring for entrance.

The massive gate rises slowly, and as it does I hear a tiny sob and notice where Clarke's rapt gaze has landed near the top of the wall.

Lexa's severed head.

Her frazzled, brittle looking hair is covered in snow, making her look much older than her twenty-two years. The skin is taut and frosted over, just like the staring eyes. It's been so cold that it hasn't decayed at all over the past week. If one didn't know any better, they'd think she died yesterday.

I cringe, wishing I could've prevented Clarke from seeing. As evidenced by the faster puffs of air, her breath has quickened and I fancy I can detect a slight tremor running throughout her frame. I can only imagine the inner turmoil she is currently experiencing.

As for me, I'm mostly unaffected by the sight, though it does seem somewhat surreal to be looking at Lexa's head when a part of her is in me now.

In any case, I subtly lean forward and whisper, "Don't look."

Clarke either doesn't hear me or doesn't listen because her eyes never leave Lexa's. Even when the gate is raised more than high enough to enter, she keeps staring. I have to push with considerable force to get her to move forward. As far as performances go, this is actually helpful.

Once on the other side, the gate immediately begins to lower. We are well and truly on our own now. I move to Clarke's side to get an idea of her mental state and am not pleased by what I find. Besides the frozen tear tracks, she's staring straight ahead, unseeing. She seems to hardly be breathing. Having her catatonic is not an option. I'm going to need her help. My own 'noble' stupidity let me believe otherwise.

"Clarke, snap out of it," I mutter. She doesn't respond in the slightest, even when I yank on her arm. " _Clarke_ ," I hiss.

"What seems to be the matter?" says an inner Polis guard. Hesad. He's a very large man from the Stone Clan who could easily knock my head off if he felt like it.

"Nothing I can't handle," I say, hoping they'll just go away. "The prisoner is just being uncooperative."

He gives me a funny look. "So make her cooperate."

Afraid of what he'll do to her if I don't act, I go against my inner mantra and strike Clarke across the face before Hesad can do serious damage. The blow was fairly weak but still she falls over, crumples on the dirty, trampled snow. When she doesn't stir, I fear I've hurt her much more than I intended to.

"Get up," I say in a harsh, detached voice.

The longer she is unresponsive, the more my stomach lurches. I'm about to drag her to her feet, but Hesad beats me to it, lifting her like she weighs nothing. For half a second I fear he's going to throw her, but then he just tosses her over his broad shoulder and starts walking.

We've only just gotten in and already I'm a complete mess. It takes some considerable deep breathing to get my heart rate and nerves under control again, which simply stings my recently fixed nose all the more. I need to be impassive and unfeeling from here on out. I need to master my emotions and compartmentalize. Lexa's making it difficult though. It's a wonder she ever managed such a stoic expression all the time. The woman felt more keenly than anyone had any right to.

"Where are we headed? The dungeons? Or the cutting tree?" asks Hesad as we begin traversing through the burnt remains of buildings. There were some sporadic fires during the siege and a number of very old wooden buildings are no more, along with some very old elders. I try not to think about that too much.

"The throne room."

Hesad side eyes me. "Unusual procedure for a prisoner."

"She's not just any prisoner," I say, craning my neck slightly. "This is the Wanheda."

His eyes widen. "Really? You finally caught her?" Now he's looking somewhat skeptical as he gives me the once over. Compared to him I am a twig. "Just you?"

"There were three of us," I reply to the incredulous behemoth.

His features darken. "Damn Sky People are a menace." He grins in a not so friendly way, revealing a number of missing and jagged teeth. "But not for much longer." He jostles a limp Clarke on his shoulder. Thankfully the dagger is secured fairly well and hasn't come loose yet. For how much longer, I can't say. Yet another thing to worry about. "Once her head's found its place beside the commanders, they'll give up completely."

"Yes," I say, feeling queasy, "that will be a glorious day."

"Long live the queen," says Hesad, pounding his chest.

"Long live the queen," I return, with considerably less vigour.

Besides training, there hasn't been a hell of a lot going on in Polis this past week, so it's not surprising that we've attracted a bit of a crowd. Some are conversing with their friends, others just stare curiously. I'm reminded of the first time Clarke and I walked through the city together, openly as a couple.

 _"I wasn't expecting everyone to stop and stare," says Clarke, as we stroll through the streets, hand in hand._

 _"This is hardly a usual occurrence, Clarke." In fact, I've never held anyone's hand in Polis before, not even Costia. This excursion is kind of a test run to see if the people accept Clarke as my partner. And if they don't, well, it doesn't really matter to me. Wild horses can't stop me from being with her...or whatever that strange Skaikru saying is.*_

 _"I guess so...but still, it's kind of annoying that we can't be out in public without attracting a crowd. I mean, don't people have anything better to do than gawk at two girls holding hands?"_

 _I cock my head sideways, smiling softly at her grumpy, indignant expression. I squeeze her hand gently, get her to look at me. "Give them time. They will adjust to our new...status before you know it."_

 _She smirks. "And once they've adjusted, I suppose I might be able to kiss the," she raises the back of a hand to her forehead and in a 'southern' accent says, "great commander without people fainting."_

 _"Perhaps," I say returning the smirk. My eyes flicker to her lips, an action she doesn't miss, and the smirk widens. She licks her lips and I half expect her to kiss me right then and there but then she turns away, further teasing me._

 _"Despite all of the attention, I have to say, I'm really enjoying holding your hand, Lexa." She sighs wistfully. "I haven't done this with a girl I liked since I was fourteen."_

 _My smile fades slightly as I innocently ask, "What was her name?"_

 _"Laura," says Clarke."She was really hot for a thirteen year old. And so funny. We used to do everything together. Practically finished each others sentences." Clarke laughs, a sound that usually makes me smile. Right now I'm feeling irrationally jealous towards a child._

 _What did Clarke mean by 'everything?'_

 _I'm even feeling resentful of the fact that our names are similar._

 _Pretending like I'm not bothered at all, "That sounds nice."_

 _"It was." Clarke sighs again. "While it lasted."_

 _She says no more and the only conclusion my mind reaches is that Laura died. I feel terrible when I realize I am smiling. Thankfully Clarke is too preoccupied in her own thoughts to notice before I get a hold of myself._

 _"I'm sorry, Clarke," I say, somberly. "It must have been very hard to lose a lover at such a young age."_

 _Clarke blinks a few times and stares at me funny. We come to a halt. "Lover? Who said anything about that?"_

 _"I just assumed," I mutter, feeling dumb, but also relieved._

 _"We were just friends, Lexa. But it_ _was_ _hard losing her."_

 _"What happened?"_

 _Clarke shrugs. "She didn't like me the same way that I liked her. And then things got awkward and our relationship just kind of fell apart." She pauses briefly and I wait for her to continue. She looks over at me, smiles somewhat mischievously. "It's probably a good thing though. If we had stayed together, I wouldn't have looked twice at you. Did I mention she was really hot?"_

 _I make a sour face and Clarke laughs. "You're cute when you're jealous." She wraps her arms around my neck and leans in to kiss me. There's a bright flash of light and we jump apart, startled. Instinctively, I retrieve my sword._

 _"What the hell?" exclaims Clarke, squinting at all the people lining the streets. I follow her lead, looking for the culprit. I see a dark haired girl grin and then disappear around the corner._

 _Clarke rolls her eyes and groans. "Leave it to Raven to bring the paparazzi to the apocalypse."_

 _Clarke snorts with laughter when she sees I've unsheathed my sword. With as much dignity as I can muster, I put it away and we continue on, wondering what on earth Clarke meant._

I stumble and nearly fall over the next instant. Having flashbacks while on the move and under undue scrutiny is less than ideal. At least I didn't inexplicably pass out like the first time. Though I suppose seeing your own death is fairly traumatizing. We're even close to the main square where it happened. I'm hoping the one flashback will be sufficient for the time being. If only there was a way to control the flow of memories so they would stop catching me off guard. Perhaps if we succeed in reclaiming Polis, I will search out Titus and ask for his spiritual guidance. That is, assuming he's still alive. I really don't know.

Thankfully we pass through the square without incident and continue up the slight icy hill towards the large white house. The curious observers have thinned a bit and it's then that I notice a familiar face.

 _Velest_.

The light, almost silver haired warrior stares at me with a mixture of relief and concern. It's no wonder, I've been gone for nearly twenty-four hours and my face looks like a bruised apple. One swift nod at each other is the extent of our reunion. I'm happy about this lack of interaction. I honestly don't know what to say to her anymore and I don't want to drag her down into the mess I'm about to create. It's better if she stays away.

When we finally get to the great doors of the house, we're again stopped by another set of guards with spears. "What's the meaning of this?" one of them asks. Malyx.

"Please inform the queen that I have captured the Wanheda," I say, "and that I wish to personally present it to her."

They share a look and then the other one ducks inside to confirm something like that is allowed. I wait anxiously. If I'm not granted access, the entire plan goes up in smoke. But if Clarke doesn't wake up soon, it's not going to matter much whether I get in or not. Without her help, I'm screwed. Hesad is a giant, so he's partially blocking Malyx's view of Clarke and I. I use this brief opportunity to try and rouse her again by pretending to yawn and tapping her cheek. This accomplishes nothing so I repeatedly cough as I say, "Clarke, I need you." I hesitate and continue, "Lexa needs you."

I'm hoping the name everyone has avoided using thus far will get a reaction, any reaction out of Clarke. Still, nothing happens. She's still completely catatonic and probably can't even hear what I'm saying. I don't dare try to cough and talk further because Malyx is staring at me strangely now.

The other guard returns shortly after, with Lord Tyrell in tow. He eyes Hesad, then me and then says, "Show me."

Hesad effortlessly hoists Clarke off his shoulder to deposit her in front of our superior. Her rigid body automatically holds her up. She's not asleep, but she is dead to the world.

With a hand to her chin, Tyrell inspects her closely. "That's her all right," he says with a smile. "What's wrong with her?"

I decide to be truthful here. "I think she saw the commanders spiked head."

"Poor thing," he says in a fake compassionate way, patting her on the face. He straightens and looks to me. "Well done, Enos. The queen will see you now."

 _Just me or_...

"The both of you," he finishes, looking at Clarke.

This time when I take Clarke's arm and tug, her body moves forward. I close my eyes in silent prayer and then Tyrell is leading us down a long, torch lit corridor, more guards scattered here and there. These assassinations will need to be completely silent, or incredibly fast, or else they will come in and slaughter us both.

 _Clarke snap out of it!_

It doesn't take that long to traverse this hallway, but I feel like it's the longest journey I've ever made. Far too soon we are passing through a set of double doors and into the throne room. Nia sits on Lexa's throne regally, legs crossed, completely at ease. She's an elegant looking woman of about fifty, but no one would be foolish enough to say she was an elder, at least not in her presence. Besides, as I know better than most, looks are deceiving, and though Nia is old, she is still one of the top warriors of all the clans. Few have faced off with her and lived to tell the tale. As hoped for, her son, Roan, stands off to the side of the throne, eagerly awaiting their 'present'. The man is a few years older than me, around twenty-seven, also with shoulder length hair - as is the typical style for Ice Nation men – and he's so conceited about his position that he's wearing a blue cape. A full length cape, like he's some sort of 'super warrior'. I've sparred with the man once. He's really not very skilled. Even Raven could probably best him in combat, and she's hardly trained. I'm not concerned about eliminating Roan, it's Tyrell and Nia that worry me, especially now that I'm on my own. The element of surprise can only help for so long.

I drop to one knee, bowing my head and say, "The Wanheda, as requested."

"Thank you for your outstanding services, Enos," says Nia. "You will be handsomely rewarded. As well, you have my sincerest condolences for the loss of your comrades."

I glance up to find her eyes boring into mine. "Thank you, my queen," I say dipping my head. "They were fine warriors."

"You may rise," she says and I immediately follow orders, wondering what the hell I'm going to do now. Even if I manage to kill all of them myself, I won't be able to get Clarke to flee with me very quickly.

Prince Roan steps down the dais and saunters over to us. He laughs and says, "I still can't believe this girl brought down the mountain." He looks at her closer, waves a hand in front of her face. "Is she already dead?" he frowns and glares at me. "Your orders were to bring her here alive. I wanted to have some fun with her before we killed her."

 _Moron_. _Would she be standing unaided, if she were dead?_

"She's not dead, my prince," I say. "She's simply unresponsive."

Briefly I explain about Lexa's head. Nia seems amused by the explanation, as does her son.

Roan smirks. "Ah, yes, I forgot. The troublesome bitches were in _love_ with each other."

I clench my jaw at his mocking tone but otherwise don't react.

"I wanted to start torturing her right away," Roan whines, "but I suppose that has to wait. It won't be any fun if she's not screaming."

Nia gets up from her stolen throne and comes to stand before us. She's half a foot taller than me and nearly as well built. She pulls out a dagger from an ornate sheath. My hearts racing just as much because of this action, as the fact that it's _Lexa's_ blade she's holding. The one Anya gave to us.

She points the triangular blade towards Clarke's face and very slowly moves inwards until the tip is almost touching her eye. Still, Clarke doesn't react in the slightest. Her pupils don't even dilate. Nia appears to be surprised by the genuine catatonic state Clarke is in. Just to double check, she stabs Clarke in the shoulder, or at least, she attempts to. Reflexively, I block her.

She looks down at me and smiles. "Hello, commander."

 _Uh oh_.

* * *

 **well, ain't this the (totally not obvious) pickle they're in**

 **Roan is basically modeled after Joffrey and that creepy, annoying kid from the Eyrie. I mean, not every grounder can be totally stone cold and skilled, so I figured, why not?**

 ***friendly reminder that Lexa was ripped apart by horses** ***runs away from the stones***


	7. Chapter 7

**Since I'm shit at description and for those wondering what Enos looks like, I think something like the depiction I have on my blog. Since I can't put links in here, I'll just say it's on tumblr and it's called grumpiestgroundergriffin. In case you have trouble finding it, it's tagged with the title of this fic.  
**

 **Of course, currently he looks nothing like this cuz his face has been beat to hell...lol**

 **If you really want to feel sad with this chap, listen to Adele's Love in the Dark as you read a certain part of it. You'll know when.**

* * *

Firm grasp on Nia's wrist, I pivot quickly and shove her in the chest with my shoulder, taking us both some distance away from Clarke. Before we've even come to a stop I'm unsheathing my sword. If I can just kill her in the next few seconds, perhaps all is not lost?

My heart races even harder when Nia doesn't attempt to defend herself and just continues to smile at me. The next moment I feel a sharp pain in the back of my skull. Someone, either Tyrell or Roan, has hit me and my mind is reeling, going foggy, struggling to remain alert and conscious. Strength quickly failing, the queen easily extricates my hand from her wrist and I stagger around like a drunken fool, turning on the spot, swiping lazily at the three of them with my sword. That goes clattering to the ground the next instant, my body falling like a piece of timber soon after.

Just before the void takes me completely, I look up and swear I see Clarke's eyes flicker towards mine.

 _Forgive me_ , is my last coherent thought.

* * *

A small orb of orange light burns through the darkness, growing larger every second, until I can't help but to open my eyes. There's fire right in front of my face, the heat and flames nearly singeing my hair and eyebrows. As the world becomes easier to comprehend, I realize it's a torch, and the person holding it is none other than the queen. She's still smirking at me in that annoyingly superior and amused way and I instinctively try to lunge at her. Nothing happens though as chains keep me from moving more than an inch. I'm spread eagled and shackled and obviously in the dungeons. The lack of any kind of natural light, sunlight or otherwise, makes this abundantly clear. My armour and weapons are missing again, as well as the bag of 'war goods' I borrowed from the camp. Curiously, my furs are still in place, so I am not freezing.

My fuzzy brain realizes there's another part of this puzzle missing. A very important part.

"Clarke!" I yell. How long have I been out? I yank some more on the chains, restraints digging into my wrists. Breaths come harsh as my imagination runs wild with all the terrible things they could be doing to her. "What have you done to her?!"

Nia slips the torch into a wall sconce and says, "We will get to that, Enos." She cocks her head sideways, smiling slyly. "Or should I say, Lexa?"

"If you've hurt her, so help me Gods, I will rip your throat out with my bare hands!"

"There's the ruthless commander I've come to know and hate," says Nia. She chuckles, the sound infuriating me. "I was reasonably certain you were the commander, but I never imagined you were _her_ too. It's really very amusing."

Far from looking amused, she grabs my chin, the stubble still itching away and stares into my eyes. "I would have seen it sooner had I actually believed in any of that reincarnation nonsense. Even as a child it had always sounded like a story the conclave elders told the people just so that they could secretly pick whoever _they_ wanted to lead us next." She sounds bitter here and I'm starting to gain a clearer picture of why she hated me and the coalition so much. "With the exception of the final fight to the death, no one knew what the testing involved. And I just assumed that aspect was simply for show. The people would more readily accept their chosen replacement if they proved themselves first in combat."

She lets go of my face, steps back a bit, smiles. "So imagine my surprise when Tyrell informed me that you had a pen in your tent."

I stare at her in shock. Everything went to hell because of _that_? Of all the idiotic ways to end up in this situation!

"I almost brushed this off as nothing. After all, there were a number of writing instruments scattered throughout the city, so it was perfectly feasible that you would come across one. But the more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder. I had Tyrell inquire among your peers to see if you had been saying or doing anything out of the ordinary. Several people told him you had been acting a bit strangely lately."

 _Was Velest one of them?_

When she rests her hands on my shoulders, I attempt to headbutt her in the face, but she jerks back before I make contact. Which is probably for the best because I would have only damaged myself some more and intensified the pounding in my skull.

Pretending as though that didn't happen at all she continues her narration. "You have her eyes." She smirks. "I would know, I stared at them for a long time after I cut her head off and impaled it." A short pause, as she closes her eyes, apparently savouring the moment. They snap open again with intensity. "And finally, you succeeded in capturing Clarke, where no one else could. Conveniently your fellow warriors were killed. Did _you_ kill them?"

My only response is glowering.

Her lip curls. "Ah, well, it doesn't really matter now, does it?"

"Great, well, now that you've explained everything to me," I say sourly, "how about you just get on with the real torture already."

Nia chuckles, runs a hand through her perfectly maintained hair. "Oh, I won't be torturing you, Enos. I won't be killing you either. I can't afford to have you," she makes an upwards hand gesture, "popping up again. Imagine the damage you could do if you invaded...Hesad. No, I need you to remain as healthy as possible, for as long as possible. You're staying right here."

I let those words sink in. Nia was just going to leave me down here, to rot in the dungeons until I took my last breath, years from now. It was a fate worse than death, especially while my insides were in torment over whatever deplorable state Clarke was surely in.

She retrieves the torch and turns around to leave. "Wait! What about Clarke?!" I exclaim.

The eerie glow from the torch accentuates her sinister look. "Your former paramour is _enjoying_ herself with my son."

Is he torturing her? Or is he doing something far worse?

My blood runs cold as she adds, "Just as your previous whore did."

The queen opens the cell door, and enraged I snarl, "You will pay for this, Nia! I will see you dead before the night is done!"

Nia only smirks again before locking the door and disappearing from sight.

I yell and thrash against the biting restraints in complete darkness, until all of my rage and terror burns out and my wrists and ankles are rubbed raw and bloody. I assume if there are any guards down here with me they must have had orders to keep me relatively unharmed, otherwise they would have come in here and beat me senseless a long time ago.

Weary from the events of the past twenty-four hours, I sag against the iron bonds, wallowing in despair at my failure to save Clarke from Roan's malignant embrace. All this time I had thought Nia had been responsible for Costia's brutal torture and abuse, but it now seems it was her evil, dimwitted son who so cruelly defiled and ripped her to shreds. It's minutes later before I realize I am silently weeping, unable to hold back all the pain of my past life. Here in the absolute darkness where no one can see, where no one will ever see, Lexa finally lets herself reveal her inner weakness for the two women she loved so completely. This kind of deep seated, long buried pain hurts far more than any of my other injuries, far more than the salt stinging the cuts on my face, and I can't help but sob out loud when the ache in my chest reaches a crescendo. I have to do this, it's the only way to stop myself from bursting open.

Gradually the terrible tension relaxes and I can breathe smoothly again, instead of only the sharp gasps of air tortuously dragged into searing lungs. My skull still throbs violently but it's not the first time I've experienced such head pain. I can manage. There's copious amounts of mucous pouring out of my nostrils but I am incapable of cleaning myself so it simply drips onto my parted lips and then the filthy stone ground below. I can't see myself but I know my stinging eyes are bloodshot and frightening to behold.

"I'm sorry, Lexa," I hoarsely whisper. "I'm so sorry."

The hiccups start soon after and I do nothing to try and rid myself of them. They continue to echo every few seconds, eventually soaking up in the thick stone walls.

"Oh, Clarke, what is he doing to you?" More tears make their way to the brink of falling. I rattle the icy cold chains weakly. "What is that bastard doing to you? You've suffered enough, far too much. It should have been me." My voice cracks, "I should have protected you."

I'm crying again but I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore. Everything Lexa sacrificed for Clarke was for naught. The conclusion ended up being the same. They never got to say goodbye to each other. And now they never will.

"I'm the worst commander ever," I croak, intermittently sniffling and hiccuping. "My first mission and I've already failed. I've destroyed all hope of winning. I've lost the only thing that matters. I was never worthy of this honour. You chose wrong, Lexa." It's painful to yell but I do it anyway. "You chose wrong!"

Lexa wiggles irritatedly within, slithers to the surface. I feel like I can hear her speaking next to me. For all I know she is. I can't see a damn thing.

 _Em pleni, Enos!_ _Stop being a goufa and pull yourself together!_

Her voice startles me enough that I stop hiccuping. "Lexa?"

 _This war is only lost if you let it be. You knew this wasn't going to be easy. You knew something was bound to go wrong. And it did, but you didn't fall apart then, so stop falling apart now! Plans never last very long in battle. You need to adapt to your circumstances and forge a new path ahead._

"But I don't know how to do that, Lexa." I tug on the chains. "I can't get free."

 _Of course you can't. You've just been mindlessly yanking on them. Use your head, branwada. Find another way. There's always another way. THINK._

I wrack my weary, throbbing brain for the answer to my dilemma, but none are forthcoming. I shake my head, ready to sink back into depression. This action earns a snarl from within, or perhaps right beside me.

 _You're not even trying! Stop giving up so easily! You're an intelligent man! I know you can figure this out, Enos. THINK._

The faintest flicker of realization dawns on me. I almost lose it because I'm afraid to face it. It grows quickly until it's firmly in place at the forefront of my mind, right beside Lexa. I don't want to do that. I really don't.

 _Are you a warrior or not? Remember your training. No emotion. No fear. No hesitation. You know what you have to do. SO DO IT._

I steady myself, rid myself of tears and weakness, close myself off, and get to it. I roll my left thumb joint into a solid grip of my other fingers. I feel for the tiny bone. Gritting my teeth, I apply a substantial pressure, snapping it. The considerable pain slices through for only a moment before I am focused once more. With my hand broken, I am able to slowly slide it out of the restraint. My arm has been hanging for so long that it is heavy and dead and I slam my thumb into my side upon its release. Bright lights explode behind my eyes, reigniting the fire in my skull, and I vomit, narrowly avoiding coating my clothes and furs in sour smelling sick.

When I have recovered from the shock, I roll my stiff shoulder around a few times, doing my best not to jar my throbbing hand any more. This I am eventually able to lift above my head and reach the shackle on my right wrist. I feel for the bolt holding the metal joints together. My thumb is beyond useless so instead I have to rely on my index and middle finger to get a secure grip on the edge of it. It's slow work, very slow and agonizing, but the bolt loosens milimetre by torturous milimetre until it's finally pulled completely out. Half of the restraint falls off, clatters to the ground, and again my arm falls dead to my side. This time I'm more prepared for it so it doesn't slam into my side. Not that it would have mattered, nothing was broken. I rotate my shoulder again, as well as my raw wrist and then hunch over and grab hold of the first bolt attached to my feet. With full use of my right hand, the process is much easier and faster and it's only a matter of minutes, instead of what felt like hours, before I've removed both shackles around my ankles. Those I rub, coaxing prickly circulation back. My first step forward almost sees me slipping in my own sick and crashing to the floor. Instead, I willfully maintain my balance, move some distance away from the regurgitated material and stretch my body up some more, regaining as much mobility as possible.

When I'm as limber as I'm going to get, I run my good hand along the stone wall, creeping forward until I find the even colder bars of the cell door. Using my right hand I test the solidity of the door, double checking it is indeed locked. The bolts to the cell door are much larger and thicker and impossible to budge.

 _Okay, Enos, you've almost freed yourself_. There's got to be a way to get through here too. The handcuff bolts aren't thin enough to pick the lock with, though they wouldn't have done me any good anyway, I don't know how to do that sort of thing.

 _Yes, you do_ , says a faint distant voice. It isn't Lexa's, but someone older. Whispers of a different commander. I suppose that's what Indra meant by gaining knowledge.

I run my hand across my face, inadvertently transferring the leftover snot. I wipe this on my furs and pace before the door. I don't know how to get out of here, but maybe someone else does. I reach out for help and suddenly I remember. I was present the day this cell was made. I oversaw the construction of all of the cells. Without a key or wire, it's impossible to go through the door. However, the cell has a different weakness. The walls themselves are not quite as solid as they might seem. With the right tool and enough force, I can remove the stones, and go out that way. It'll be difficult with only one functioning hand, but not impossible.

I drop to my knees and blindly scrounge for one of the bolts lying around, being careful to avoid the pool of vomit again. Finally I find one and crouch over to the nearest wall.

 _Wrong one_ , says someone.

I pick the east facing wall next and when no one tells me otherwise, I begin scraping away at the crumbling clay holding everything together. It takes ages and my fingers become stiff and sore from the exertion but the rock does loosen. I sit back on my ass and kick at the stone a few times, ever thankful for my sturdy boots. The stone scraps across the ground - causing me to cringe at the sheer volume - and makes a hole about the size of my open hand. I lay on my stomach, reach through and shove the stone to the side to try and get an idea of what I'm up against once I escape. Faint torchlight greets me. Once my eyes have adjusted, I scan the area as best I can from this vantage point and find nothing but an empty corridor lined with additional cells. They never expect anyone to be able to escape, so they don't guard this area very heavily. Of course, I'm sure to be greeted less cordially once I make my way upstairs. There's always guards there.

It takes the removal of four more stones before I have enough room to lie flat on my stomach and crawl through. It's impossible to avoid jarring my broken thumb at all and I just deal with it the best that I can until I am free. I'm covered in filth now but that's the least of my concerns so I don't even bother trying to clean it off. I don't know how long I've been at this for but my neck and back are cramping horribly, as well as my only useful hand. I shake this out a bit and then peek down the corridor to find it's still deserted. Except for a bolt covered in dried blood, I've got no weapons to speak of.

 _That's not true, Enos_ , I think, _you've got a fist, and two perfectly good feet don't you?_

Whoever I come up against is sure to have armour and at least one sword, on top of those other modest assets. I'll need to get the jump on them to best them, which means, I need to be very quiet once I reach the upper level. This is easier said than done because my body is exhausted and it's hard to keep light on my feet and not drag my boots.

Still, the thought of what might be happening to Clarke at this very instant keeps me alert and moving forward down the seemingly endless corridor. There are a few other woebegone prisoners here, Polis citizens who caused the queen grief after the siege. She or her son has tortured them pretty gruesomely and I avert my gaze, terrified I will find Clarke in a similar state. All the noise I made has apparently awakened them, so they are watching my progress like shadows in the night. One jumps to the bars and says, "Take me with you!"

"I'm sorry," I hurriedly reply, "I can't do that. I don't have a key."

"I can't stand it anymore," he despairs, "I just want it to end!"

Despite not wanting to waste time, I feel compelled to console and reassure slightly. I place my good hand over top his cut and bruised ones and say, "Stay strong. It will be over soon. I'm going to kill the queen tonight."

He just stares at me wide eyed and nods and I continue on.

When I get to the torch, I stow the bolt in my shirt and lift it up. I'm finding it much heavier than I normally would, but that doesn't deter me from carrying it along with me. Either end could be of use on the upper level.

Ascending the darkened stairs now, I creep along with the torch behind me, to muffle the light to those up ahead. I hear voices before I see anyone. Holding the torch out of sight, I peek my head around the top of the stairs to try and get a visual on them. I can't see anyone. The voices are distant and sound like they're coming from in front of the only entrance to the dungeons. I can't make out what they're saying. Probably grumbling about being assigned the night watch. There's generally nothing to do and the chill bites deeply. At least they are not on the wall. That is a far worse fate.

I advance closer and a small crack in the prison wall lets me see that there are two of them, both men. Both larger than me. But their backs are turned to me, facing away from the entrance and ready to maim anyone who might try to break someone out. It's with relative ease I open the door and knock them upside the head with the wooden end of the torch. The second man requires a second whack, but then they are down and it's a simple matter of completing my prison break.

 _Yeah, because THAT was simple_ , I snort to myself.

Even if I wanted to waste more time clumsily undressing one of them and myself, I wouldn't. Their armour wouldn't fit very well and it will only impede my already sluggish movements. So I drop the torch and tying a belt around my waist, trade it for a sheathed sword and dagger.

Judging by the height of the moon, it's around four in the morning. Daybreak is around three hours away, and by then, I might as well just give up. Polis will be alive and swarming with deadly warriors. I don't know what the queen has told them but I doubt she's made it public knowledge that I am the commander. They won't hesitate to cut me down, especially if I've already cut _her_ down.

The wind has picked up again and it is bitingly cold but I barely notice. With a determined air I strike onwards through the virgin snow, forging my new path.

 _I'm coming, Clarke_. I feel Lexa's presence. _We're coming_.

* * *

 **This chap feels very Count of Monte Cristo to me...it is one of my all time faves, so I'm not surprised.**

 **I hope you're proud of me Jude. I included THAT stuff and I didn't throw up more than once myself as I wrote it.**

 **I knew this shit would be angsty but it's turning out angsty in a different way than I originally imagined. Huh.**


	8. Chapter 8

Mother Nature has been busy during my incarceration. The freshly fallen snow is two feet deep and I am struggling to keep going. It would be so easy to simply lay down and go to sleep. But I won't be allowing myself such weakness. Not tonight.

Polis encompasses around four square miles. In the centre lies a two hundred foot monolith, a remnant of the old world. We call it Feva Faya because its fires burn day and night, a constant reminder of all that was lost the day the world ended. Like the Northern Star it guides me to where I want to go; the cutting tree. I assume if Clarke is anywhere, it is there. I don't want to think about what it means if I am wrong.

As I gaze upon the distant flickering flame, I am reminded of the time Clarke and I rose to the top.

 _Clarke is eyeing the rickety boards with trepidation. She cranes her neck up, taking in the vast vertical void. A visible tremor shakes through her body. "Are you sure this is safe, Lexa?"_

 _"Perfectly safe, Clarke. I have risen to the top on many an occasion."_

 _When she is still hesitant, I step into the elevator first, turn, and hold out my hand to her. "You have nothing to fear."_

 _"If you say so," she grumbles, taking my hand and stepping onto the platform beside me. She glares at me accusingly. "If we fall, I'm going to kill you."_

 _That tugs at the corners of my lips. With a nod in the direction of the operator, the hulking man, Hesad, begins turning the hefty crank. The ropes grow taught and we begin to ascend. Our only source of light in this pitch black shaft is the solitary torch located at the back of the platform. Besides a waist high railing, there is no protection from slipping over the edge._

 _Every creak and groan sees Clarke breathing shallower and gripping my hand tighter. Her eyes are closed now and I don't dare disturb her efforts to keep herself calm. Midway, her hand is so moist that it is rather unpleasant, but I never once attempt to pull away. I understand her fear, I too questioned the structural integrity of this elevator. I too was afraid the first few times I ascended. I will never tell her this though._

 _Finally, when my poor hand is throbbing fiercely from the terrified girls grasp, we come to a halt. The platform jolts a bit as the ropes reach the end of their tether. Clarke squeaks and lightly panting, opens her eyes._

 _I've seen the view many times, so instead I focus on Clarke's reaction. Her eyes widen first in fear, at the sheer height, but then quickly give way to delight. One of the greatest pleasures in life is enjoying Clarke's joy.  
_

 _"Whoa," she breathes open mouthed. "It's breathtaking."_

 _She turns to smile at me and I smile back. "The view is even better from the outside. Would you like to go?"_

 _For a split second she looks afraid to move but then she nods and I ease her off the gently swaying platform and onto the circular ledge. There are no guard rails of any sort out here. If we want to go to the very top of the tower, where the eternal fire burns, we will have to climb the crumbling stairs. I may suggest that later, I may not._

 _Hand in moist hand, we cautiously lower into sitting positions, legs dangling off the edge. The whole of Polis stretches out before us, buildings so insignificant as to be barely distinguishable from the treetops. It still amazes and humbles me that I am the ruler of all this land, all of these people. I come up here from time to time when I want to be alone and think. Besides the keeper of the flame, no one else is allowed up here._

 _"Wow," says Clarke again, snuggling up against my shoulder. I don't know if she does this to be closer or because it is windier and therefore colder up here than the ground. I don't care what the reason is and simply wrap my arm around her waist. "This really is amazing, Lexa." She presses a quick kiss to my jaw. "Thanks for showing me this."_

 _"It is my pleasure, Clarke," I say, a tiny sigh of contentment escaping my lips._

 _We sit in silence for a time, with only the occasional gust of wind to stir things up between us. These quiet moments with Clarke are my favourites. We rarely have a chance for them, so I cherish them all the more._

 _My reverie is disturbed when Clarke pulls back and turns to look at me, makes sure she has my total attention and says, "Ai hod yu in, Leksa."_

 _Her face is soft and gentle, but also very serious and a little anxious as she waits for my response. It's hard to believe she has any doubts, that she would worry that I wouldn't reciprocate. We've spoken the sentiment to each other a hundred different times, but never the actual words. It's like we were afraid to make it permanent when everything is so impermanent in this savage world._

 _My heart beats fast as I break out into a full smile and respond in kind, intoning the words I have long felt. "Ai hod yu in, Klark...feva."_

 _She smiles brilliantly at me, her eyes full of love and tenderness and joy._

 _In that moment, I am the happiest I have ever been._

The heartfelt memory instills a little warmth and courage and determination to keep going. I'm flooded with my former strength, and I only pray that it lasts long enough to get me to my destination.

The city itself is mostly dead, so I haven't had any problems from those that might do me harm. Only once have I ducked into an alleyway when I heard movement, and even then, it was only a stray animal. I keep having to flex my good hand, to stop it from cramping up entirely. This proves to be a very useful thing when I finally do make it to the cutting tree in the main square.

There's a commotion, three figures whirling around each other, swords clashing. I see a flair of dirty blonde in amongst the white and gray. The person I assume to be Clarke is dueling two guards at once...and losing. One of them slashes her arm and she drops her sword. I hesitate, not sure what to do. By the time I get there, she will probably be dead or at the very least incapacitated again. But they are too far away for my stiff hand to have any assurances of hitting the correct target, or _any_ for that matter. I would yell at them to try and distract long enough for Clarke to kill them, but my voice is pretty much non-existent.

One of them raises a mauled glove to strike her with. There's nothing for it, I just have to throw the dagger and hope I don't hit Clarke by accident. I snap it up from its sheathe and putting all my weight into it, flick my wrist as I have done countless times. I hold my breath as the blade soars through the air and hits the menacing guard in the back. He tumbles over, nearly crushing Clarke in the process. When the other one whips around to face this unexpected intrusion, Clarke snatches up her fallen sword and runs her through.

My strangled scream dies in my throat before it makes a sound. A burst of energy sends me sprinting towards them. Clarke looks up from her kill, wide eyed and fearful at my furious and devastated approach. I stop just short of her bloody sword point, and then ignoring her completely, I drop to my knees, turning the fallen warrior over. I try not to think about the pool of red staining the white. I cradle her in my arms, and I'm reminded of the time she saved my life as a boy, when I fell through the ice and was sure I was going to die. But she fearlessly dove in after me and pulled me out, and we were life long friends ever since.

She coughs up blood, stares into my eyes, expression unfocused and hazy.

"Enos?" she mutters, shakily reaching out a hand to my face.

"I'm here, Velest, I'm here," I say, covering her hand with my own. For the third time that night, tears spring to my eyes. I haven't cried so much in all my life.

"Is it true?" she whispers as blood trickles down her chin. "Are you really the commander?"

"It's true," I say with a nod, voice cracking.

She smiles faintly. "I always knew you would be a great leader one day." She coughs up more blood, tremors running through her slackening body. I clutch her tighter as if that will delay the inevitable. She gives me a look, so reminiscent of the one Clarke did in my memory. "I love you Enos, always have."

My chest clenches painfully at the long unsaid words, the ones that until very recently had no hope of being reciprocated in a romantic way. I kiss her too cold forehead, the last vestiges of life retreating. "I love you too, Velest," I murmur, the tears falling once more. "You were my very best friend." I barely get the words out, "Yu gonplei ste odon."

She's still smiling when her eyes close for the very last time.

I sob into her beautiful hair, the sound muffled and broken. If a person can die from sheer sorrow, I must be close to that point. I'm so physically and emotionally exhausted now I would gladly welcome the end.

An unknown length of time passes before Clarke swims into vision before me, kneeling. She has that haunted, mad look again and this time I'm glad. I don't even care that she's been cut multiple times across her face, dried blood collected on the front of her coat. She deserves to be punished. She deserves to be hurt.

"Enos..." she starts, hesitantly. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. It was-"

I lash out, punch her across the face as hard as I can. She falls backwards, crashing into the snow without grace. It's then that I notice a third body just behind her, sunk and half covered in the snow. I suppose that's where she got her sword from, the one that killed Velest. She looks up at me, tears in her eyes.

"Go away, Clarke. I don't want you here right now."

For a second it seems like she might actually leave us be, but then she pushes herself to her feet and says, "We have to go, Enos. You can't stay here like this. It's not safe."

"Clearly," I snap back.

Her face hardens into an eerily close imitation of the commander mask. In an expressionless voice she says, "Fine then. I'll go kill the royal family _myself_."

It's only when she starts moving away from me that I notice the trail of blood coming off her sword arm. It's not just a few drops either. She's been injured worse than she's letting on. I growl to myself in anguish, then kiss Velest's forehead once more and lay her gently back into the snow. I'm covered in her blood, the metallic smell permeating my senses, embedding itself into my very core. I unsheathe my sword and with some difficulty and cut off one of her blondish, silvery braids. This I tuck into my shirt, fingers brushing against the useless bolt. I put my sword away and then reluctantly leave Velest's side and head towards her killer.

Clarke doesn't get very far away though before she too collapses into the snow. Despite my anger, and even hatred towards her, what's left of my heart lurches again and I rush to her side. On top of her face and arm, there are a number of cuts through her clothes too. Roan was softening her up for later when he would attempt to force himself on her as he most likely did with Costia. She doesn't realize just how dangerous he is. His stupidity only heightens his evilness.

She's stubbornly forcing herself to her feet, hell bent on her one goal. I know right then what has to be done. I've known since the moment I awoke in chains.

"Clarke, it's over. We can't go after them tonight."

"Like hell we can't," she pants, clutching at her arm, blood leaking through. "They're just up the hill, Enos!"

"Neither of us is in any condition to face off against their guards. It's a suicide mission."

"I don't care!" she exclaims, staggering against me.

I move in front of her, grab her by the shoulder with my only functioning hand, make her look into my bloodshot eyes. "Sometimes you must concede a battle to win a war."

"That's all we've been doing, Lexa!" she yells.

Neither of us speaks after this outburst. Realizing her mistake, Clarke averts her gaze. Then she slumps against me and I struggle to hold her weight up. I glance to the partially cloudy skies and see that there is at best an hour until sunrise. Training starts promptly at sunrise.

"We have to get out of here before dawn breaks, Clarke," I mutter into the top of her head.

"But I can't leave if she's still breathing," she cries softly, clutching at my furs, "I just can't."

"Nia isn't going anywhere. We'll have our chance yet. Just not tonight."

 _Stay strong. I'm going to kill the queen tonight._..

I feel a wave of guilt over my broken promise to the broken man, to all of the helpless and enslaved. It breaks my already shattered heart to leave them behind too, but there's nothing for it. We've failed in our primary mission and we need to leave and regroup. Live to fight another day.

Clarke says no more and simply helps me bandage her arm and guide her towards freedom. We won't be able to get out of the main gate which means we need to gain access to the wall...and jump. It's twenty feet up and we aren't exactly in tip top shape. All I can hope for is a considerable snowdrift to soften the fall. Otherwise...well, it's best not to think about that.

At the top of the wall I'm forced to kill another of my comrades. I don't recognize the woman, but I have a flashback to Velest, and I look away before I can be affected further.

When Clarke finally clues in to what's coming next she looks to me and says, "You first, Enos. Show me where to jump."

I'm not about to fall for that. It's an obvious ploy to just stay and go after the queen, and get herself killed, as she so clearly wants.

I hold out my hand. "Together," I say congenially, or as congenially as barely working vocal chords can muster.

Clarke sighs, takes my hand. "Well, lets get this over with."

Even aiming for a pile of high snow, it still hurts like hell. Mostly because I landed badly and crushed my already broken hand. I can't help the second wave of nausea, only the direction it's aimed in. Apparently Clarke landed better because she's on her feet already, watching me spill the rest of my last meal. She kneels down and gingerly takes my screwed up hand in hers, turns it over.

"It's broken," she says, frowning. "This didn't just happen, did it?"

Before I can respond, we freeze in place when a not too distant and unwelcome sound is heard. Someone has been alerted to our escape and is currently blowing the horn for all their worth. Others take up the call. We definitely can't linger any longer. I curse myself for not killing the two prison guards, if that is indeed who is causing problems now.

Clarke helps me to my feet and we rush as fast as we can towards the cover of the trees. They are a considerable distance away. That's what makes storming the 'castle' so hard. Archers have plenty of time to spot and pick off intruders long before they reach the wall. Carrying twenty foot ladders wouldn't exactly be inconspicuous, which is why we opted for this plan. Even with grappling hooks, it would be difficult. The queen only succeeded by playing dirty. Clearly she is far better at that than we are.

Thankfully no one knows we've already left the premises. With any luck, we'll reach the forest before anyone realizes we're gone. At which point, the queen will send her fastest trackers after us, and considering our current state and the blood trail we're leaving behind, it will be over before it's begun. The only thing keeping me going now is pure adrenaline. I feel like this is my last burst of energy. After that, I will collapse and the only way I'll get up again is if someone carries me. That someone definitely won't be Clarke. She's just as far gone as me.

By some miracle we reach the tree coverage unmolested. I wasn't too picky about which portion of the wall we jumped off of, and consequently, our little army is nowhere to be found. No breath to spare, we simply nod at one another and keep going. They've surely heard the horns by now. Since they can see we haven't managed to open the gate, they know things didn't go to plan. In this event, they're supposed to head back to camp, not come after us.

But damn am I glad they do. Two riders on horseback gallop towards us and if it hadn't been Bellamy and Echo, we, or I suppose only Clarke would be dead right now. My long estranged cousin opts to ride with me, leaving Bellamy to tend to Clarke. Perhaps if I wasn't beyond exhausted and angry at her, I might feel a twinge of jealousy at their embrace on the horse and how close she is sitting to him.

The fact is, I don't know if I can ever truly forgive her for what she did.

* * *

 **Yay for angst!**

 **My original idea was to have only Enos go and then have Velest help him escape, only to be killed in the process. The other idea was to have them fight each other, and have Enos be forced to kill her. Basically, she was going to die one way or the other. This story isn't about their relationship. I think this way was slightly less angsty than Enos killing her himself, like Lexa had to kill Gustus. Though that would've made for a nice parallel.**

 **So prison break, Polis break, bone break, heart break. Give me a break.**

 **Feva Faya means Forever Fire. So yes, Lexa said she'll love Clarke forever. I may or may not have added this after hearing about Alan Rickman...RIP. (There's no 'sleng word for always, so this had to make do).  
**

 **And now I think we're going to get on to the stuff that I originally wanted to explore. I.e. Clarke/Enos interactions of a less hostile nature.**


	9. Chapter 9

Back at camp, there's no time to waste. We must take only the necessities and then flee. Clarke and I will have inevitably led them straight back here. There's no telling how many warriors there will be. It's not safe here any longer.

As everyone scrambles to collect the necessary supplies, Raven storms up to me and slaps me across the face. She might as well have punched me, my face is already so sore. "I told you to take care of her!"

Clarke, who is holding the book I picked out during my testing, intervenes. "Raven, don't, it isn't his fault." She's looking at me as she says, "I'm the one who screwed up big time. Enos saved my life."

 _And how did you return the favour?_ I think, a new wave of anger taking hold. Absentmindedly I finger the braid stowed in my shirt. I suppose we all need momentos of those we've lost.

"Come on," continues Clarke, shoving the metal cup into her saddlebag, "we have to get out of here."

Indra catches my eye and wordlessly asks whether or not we succeeded in killing anyone. I shake my head and then glance away, too ashamed to hold her stare.

We're on our way a short while later, most doubled up on the available horses, some of the swifter, sure footed people, keep up on the ground. The tents are left erected, and I can't help but watch as mine disappears from view, perhaps forever. I happen to notice Clarke glancing back too and our eyes meet briefly during this action before focusing on what's ahead.

There are no indications that we are actually being followed, but it's better to be safe than sorry. As it is, the death toll will rise. Because we failed in our assassination attempts, Nia is going to be enraged that we escaped. And knowing her as intimately as I do, she'll first kill the prison guards, and then the prisoners. The broken man will get his wish.

 _Forgive me_.

My only hope is that she leaves the other citizens alone. I couldn't live with myself if everyone was wiped out because my gamble didn't pay off, because I put my faith in the wrong person.

Except for very brief spans of time, we don't stop until we get to the mountain a day later. Every other second of that had been excruciating. The up and down momentum of the horse jarred my broken hand painfully. The sling Indra had fashioned had only been slightly helpful.

We gain admittance through the large metal door by radioing in using a previously agreed upon code word. These normally change everyday but our party has been out of communication range, fighting a war. As an added precaution, there is a security camera, allowing the control room to confirm it isn't a trap.

Everyone, horses included, enter the long crumbling bunker. We are greeted by a number of faces, most I don't recognize. Only Abby and Kane stand out. Clarke's mother rushes over to check on her daughter first, the concern apparent for all to see. "We'll get you cleaned up in no time, honey," she says, taking her face in her hands and kissing her forehead. "You're going to be fine."

She then turns to me and freezes. It's obvious I don't belong. "Who are you?" she asks.

My throat has been rubbed raw and is cramped as much as my hand. All I manage is a croak.

"This is Enos," offers Clarke, side-eying me. She hesitates before confidently adding, "The new commander."

I guess this means she believes me now. I don't really care though.

Both Abby's and Kane's eyes widen at this pronouncement and there is muttering all around, from both sides. Abby collects herself and perhaps her disbelief quickly and then examines my wounds as well. She flinches ever so slightly when she sees my mangled hand. "This might need surgery," she informs me.

I nod once and then supported by Echo, wearily follow her lead towards the elevator and the third floor, where the medical bay resides. There isn't a ton of room in this metal box and Clarke's arm keeps brushing against my own. I can tell she's staring at me, but I just ignore her as I did the entire journey here, even when she explained what happened, and how she non-fatally stabbed Roan before Tyrell subdued her. I simply can't stand to look at her right now. Every time I do, the worst moment of my life replays in slow motion and vivid colour.

The medical bay is overflowing with patients, the worst off getting access to the beds. There a number of members from the few clans that remained loyal to me before the final strike on Polis. The mountain only has a capacity for about three hundred, so I'm assuming the surviving, uninjured members scattered back to their home lands. If Clarke hadn't gone mad, they might have stayed to follow her. After all, she was the commander's second and many looked upon her with the same fear, respect and admiration.

Abby leads us to an unoccupied corner of the hectic room and begins tending to our wounds. She attempts to start with Clarke but Clarke makes her look after me first. Abby purses her lips but acquiesces to her daughters demand. As she's re-cleaning the wounds on my face, Abby tuts and says, "They really did a number on you."

Clarke shifts uneasily beside me.

After Abby is done with that, she takes me into another room to get an X-ray done of my hand. She informs me it's to see the extent of damage. I would say it's pretty obvious that a number of bones are broken, if not shattered altogether.

With that accomplished, she gives me one injection for the pain and another for sleep, and sends me off to bed while she studies the X-ray. Echo helps me into someone's bed in the common room on level five, where even more hospital overflow has been contained.

Before I drift off, she says, "I'm glad you didn't die...cousin."

* * *

A day and a surgery later, my hand and forearm are now encased in plaster. My throat and jaw are less sore and I can now speak again with comparative ease. Not that I really want to. I've been pretty moody and closed off since leaving the wall, and most have wisely kept their distance. I suppose if we had actually accomplished our assassination goals, or even just killed _one_ of our targets, it would be a measure of comfort. But everything we did was in vain. If anything, we only made the situation worse.

When Clarke informed Echo of Velest's passing, she paid her respects and even awkwardly attempted to comfort me. Once upon a time, they had been friendly. Never true friends exactly, but friendly. I stiffly thanked her and then walked off to brood some more.

News of the new commander has spread quickly, and everywhere I go, people whisper and stare. So for the most part I stay in a room someone forfeited and stare at the dull gray wall, a mirror of my heart and mind. The longer I stay isolated, the more my resentment towards Clarke grows. I haven't had a single new memory. Apparently I've discovered the keys to blocking the flow. Avoiding triggers and hating Clarke.

After two days of brooding, Indra has enough and forces me out of the room with the incentive of war planning. As well, she gives me a speech about not appearing weak, and the words wash over me like rain water, I've heard them so many times.

I'm detached but efficient and our first strategy session goes fairly smoothly, even with Clarke co-captaining. There are no clear results as to how to proceed, but there is some progress, at least as far as brainstorming goes. We are at a point where we will not bar anyone from the sessions nor will we immediately discount even the most ridiculous of ideas, most of which come from Jasper.

When the meeting in the conference hall concludes everyone trickles out, everyone except for Clarke. Ignoring her presence, I continue to stare at a detailed rendering of Polis that encompasses multiple pages. She stands there waiting for me to look up, waiting for me to acknowledge her in the slightest. Finally she has enough and snaps, "You can't hate me forever, Enos!"

"Yes I can," I reply tersely, still refusing to make eye contact, if only to avoid another terrible flashback. Vaguely, I wonder if this is what Clarke has been experiencing every time she stares into my eyes. Not that I care.

"Well, I won't let you!"

"You know better than most that forgiveness is hard to come by. You can't force it."

Clarke huffs and moves closer towards me, almost within touching range. In a softer voice she says, "I didn't know who she was. I wasn't trying to hurt you...not that time. You know that, don't you? It was an accident."

"Running someone through with a sword is hardly an accident, Clarke," I reply, uncovered knuckle turning white against the table top.

Clarke makes note of this and backs off, not eager to be punched again. The cuts on her face are vivid red and the deeper ones will probably scar. Not that I care.

"You're being petty and childish and _weak_. I expected better from the commander."

"And I expected you to realize that I don't care what you think." I force myself to look her in the eye, do my best to repress thoughts of Velest and add, "The only reason I saved you from yourself was because I need you to win this war." I leave out the part about Raven threatening to bomb Polis. "Despite your madness, your people still look to you as their leader. It will take time to establish myself. Until then, I need you breathing."

She looks pissed and hurt and somewhat lost. Not that I care.

"I don't believe you," she says stubbornly. "There's more to it than that."

"Oh really?" I say, awkwardly crossing my arms. "And what would that be?"

She hazards a couple of steps closer, getting into my personal space. I'm struggling to remember why I'm mad at her. I'm struggling to keep my eyes on her eyes and not lower. Inevitably they do flicker down to her lips, if only for a second. "Before we went to Polis, you refused to hit me. Why?"

She's searching my face of stone for answers and I'm not sure I can maintain this facade for much longer so I sidestep the question and retaliate with, "Why do _you_ care what _I_ think of you?"

Clarke clenches her jaw and says, "I have no freaking clue," and storms off.

I release a shaky breath, run a hand across my face, wincing when I touch a particularly sensitive spot. This situation with Clarke is going to become increasingly problematic. I'm not sure that I can continue to ignore her in the same way that I have been these past few days. Just that little dose of proximity reminded me what I felt in the beginning and made me yearn for more.

 _Damn you, Lexa._ _Damn you and your weakness_.

A raspy chuckle greets me from within.

"You think this is amusing, do you?" I say out loud, glowering at nothing.

"Who were you talking to?" says Clarke, unexpectedly returning.

My eyes snap up to hers. "What do you want?"

She glares and picks up a piece of paper, part of Polis she hasn't finished rendering and stalks away. I can't help but stare at her swaying hips and ass as she leaves.

The echoing laughter returns.

"If you weren't already dead, I'd kill you," I mutter sourly before going back to my room to brood, and definitely _not_ think about Clarke. Because I don't care.

* * *

Three days later the beginnings of a concrete plan begin to emerge. After discounting things ranging from missiles to poisoned food and water to straight up challenging Nia to one on one combat - because let's face it, there's zero percent chance she'll play fair, besides the fact that I've still got a cast on and will for weeks to come - we've now settled on something rather unusual.

Hang Gliders.

Neither I, nor any of the previous commanders have ever heard of such a thing, but the more I learn, the more I like the concept. Soaring in _over_ the wall would be something Nia would never expect. By the time the archers understood what was going on, we'd already be past them. Or at the very least, the chances they would be able to hit us, would be much more remote than simply riding up to the gate. Admittedly, the prospect of being so high in the sky with nothing for support but a piece of fabric is fairly unnerving, but I'm not about to let on that I am frightened of heights.

Theoretically, we could bring in an entire army this way...as long as enough materials could be scrounged up. Raven is optimistic that she can make five or six of them with available resources. She'll know more once she's actually drawn up the schematics for one.

In the meantime, I oversee design of Ice Nation attire. Once we're behind enemy lines, we'll need to blend in, and I am the best authority on what we should look like, down to the tiniest detail. However, Echo begins giving unsolicited advice about this thing or that, and eventually I get so fed up that I let her take over this project. If she wasn't my cousin, I would put her in her place...probably.

There's nothing for me to do besides get back into training, so that's what I do. It's slow going at first, I'm still stiff and sore and unaccustomed to the extra weight and cumbersomeness of my cast, but eventually I get the hang of it. Indra shows up on the second day, watches for a few minutes and then starts telling me how to improve my form in my 'crippled' state. I try to ignore her but she never shuts up so I snap and order her away. She at least still listens to me.

On my way out of the training area on the basement level, I nearly run into Clarke, who was looking through junk that Raven might be able to make use of. I got pretty hot and sweaty so I'm not wearing my shirt right now. When her gaze immediately skirts over my tattooed chest, I feel even more exposed than when I was stripped by Bellamy and Octavia. I also feel a delightful shiver run through me, the hairs on my neck standing on end. We're standing much too close again and I have a sudden urge to pin her against the wall. Her body language suggests that she wants me to too. I'm seconds away from giving in but then Clarke blinks and swiftly moves past, blushing slightly.

That night I have trouble sleeping. Dreams, or memories perhaps of Clarke and I being intimate plague me. The line between love and hate is being blurred again, and I'm not sure what I want anymore. Not that I was ever very certain about these inexplicable and intense feelings towards a woman. Tired of tossing and turning, I get up and make my way to the mess hall for a late night drink. Monty showed me where he keeps his extra stash of moonshine. He said I was free to help myself whenever I wanted. I've only had it once before but it's much stronger than whatever the Skaikru can whip up with the mountain's dwindling technology and resources. It's exactly the sort of thing I need right now.

The moonshine is stashed under the piano, so I untape the canister and pour myself a healthy dose into a glass lying in reach. I down this right away, enjoying the burn on its way into my belly. While I'm attempting to savour my second serving, I accidentally swipe the keys of the piano. Though I have no musical training, I can tell they're out of tune. Still, I mess around with the keys. It's hard to play much of anything intricate with one hand, but I manage to churn out something fairly pretty...and familiar.

"Where did you learn that song?" says a quiet voice from behind.

Clarke has gotten very good at sneaking up on me, and I don't care for it.

I pivot a hundred and eighty degrees on the bench, so that I am facing her. She's leaning against a concrete pillar, arms crossed. Like me, she's only dressed in her night attire, which is to say, just a thin shirt and shorts. The mountain still has central heating, so we don't have need for more layers in winter time. Also like me, her hair is down. It has been unbraided for awhile now and has returned to its wavy and alluring texture.

"Would you like a drink?" I say, holding up my mostly empty glass.

She frowns at my response. "Why do you keep avoiding my questions with another question? What are you hiding?"

"What do you want me to say, Clarke?"

She huffs in frustration, but continues to stand her ground. "I want you to tell me the truth, Enos. I want you to tell me why you refused to hit me even after I beat you up. I want you to tell me how you know that song...a song L-Lexa used to play for me."

If I tell her the full truth – that I'm remembering their time together, that Lexa's feelings have transferred to me – it would just devastate her all over again. There's been enough broken people around here lately, that isn't an option. I settle for half truths, hoping that will satisfy her curiousity and she'll leave me alone.

"If you'll recall, Indra informed you that commanders gain the wisdom and knowledge of their predecessors. Therefore I know what they know. Most of the time it's not on a conscious level, at least not until the information is of practical use." Still having no idea how to answer my gentlemanly behaviour I give her a feigned curious look and distract with, "Didn't you ever ask Lexa about what it's like to be the commander?"

"Yeah, of course I did," Clarke grumbles. "She said she could sometimes hear them when she was troubled and in need of guidance."

"In that case, I fail to see why you're being so invasive."

Clarke hesitates, licks her lips. "You can hear Lexa then, right? She speaks to you?"

"Not often," I reply, hoping she'll leave it at that. Of course she doesn't.

"But she's been saying things to you," Clarke presses, "and that's why you wouldn't hit me?"

Lying, I give a curt nod and then turn back to the piano. Maybe she'll take the hint and leave.

Somewhat exasperatedly, "Why didn't you just _tell_ me that then?"

I hit several keys before I realize I'm playing the same damn tune again. I stop and awkwardly sit there, finishing the rest of my drink. Rather than leave, I hear Clarke padding over to me in her socks. She sits down beside me on the bench and hits some keys at random.

Clarke sighs. "She tried to teach me the basics, but I was too impatient to learn." She glances sideways at me, gives me a small sad smile. "Will you teach me that song?"

 _Will it make you go away if I do?_

I give another dip of the head and then proceed to spend half an hour going over the simple melody bit by bit. Every second of that time I am hyper aware of her proximity and how it's adversely affecting my pulse; how she smells amazing, like wild flowers and lemons and something else indescribable; how I shiver every time our fingertips accidentally brush against one another; how Clarke's nearly see-through shirt is increasingly distracting and arousing me, creating an uncomfortable tightness in my shorts.

"For someone who claims not to be attracted to women, you sure do stare a lot."

I thought I was being subtle. Apparently not. Somewhat hesitantly I look into her eyes. She's arching an eyebrow, giving me a politely confused expression, waiting for me to explain myself. There's a hint of amusement there, and I suddenly realize she's played me. She's had her suspicions about what's been going on and now she's all but confirmed them with a single glance downwards.

Feeling exposed again, I cross my legs and mutter, "It's not what you think."

"So that's just a random boner?"

I flush slightly in embarrassment, glancing away.

"If all commanders are gay, how is this possible?" she wonders aloud. This is it, she knows. Indra must have told her. "The answer of course is that you're not who you say you are."

 _Wait, what?_

My eyes snap up to hers in bewilderment, only to widen when I see the dagger in hand. My heart rate skyrockets.

 _Where the hell did that come from?! Am I dreaming? Please tell me I'm still dreaming!_

"Clarke," I say slowly, inching away slightly, "what are you doing?"

She grabs the front of my shirt, keeping me in place. In the same movement, the blade is pressed against my throat. Her eyes shine with the fervour of madness. I'm unsure of how to proceed. She doesn't immediately slit my throat, so she must have something to say first.

"I was right all along," she says in a dangerous whisper. "You've just been playing us this whole time. The queen didn't kill you. Why? Because you're working _with_ her. You didn't escape any dungeons. You were never in any. You broke your own hand to make it convincing. Then you rescued me so that everyone, myself included, would believe that you were who you said you were. You stopped me from going after the queen because you didn't want her dead. We never saw anyone chasing us because there wasn't any chase. The horns were just for show. You two orchestrated this whole thing to gain access to the mountain. And now you're waiting for the best moment to let your people in to finish us off, just like Polis."

I don't know what's scarier. The fact that everything she just said makes perfect sense to me and would indeed have been a diabolical plan, or that I'm one second away from death. Again.

"You've got this all wrong, Clarke," I say cautiously, keenly aware of the cold steel against my adam's apple.

"I don't think so," she says with some heat.

I resist the urge to swallow for fear of cutting myself. Even in this dire situation, I want to avoid causing _her_ distress by telling her the truth.

"The song, Clarke," I say, trying to appeal to her clearly still functioning logical side. "How could I know the song if I wasn't the commander?"

She adds pressure to the blade, and I feel a trickle of blood. "Lexa. You tortured her before you killed her. Learned all her secrets."

It's almost comical. She's right, I do know all of Lexa's secrets, but not for the reason she thinks.

I keep maintaining eye contact, hoping that will somehow make her believe me more readily. "You know better than most that Lexa would never have broken. No matter what the queen did to her. Not after Costia."

Clarke's nostrils flare at the name but she doesn't interject. It seems like maybe she is beginning to listen to me, desperately looking for a reason not to add more blood to her hands. Encouraged by this, I seize my opportunity.

"If Lexa had broken, the queen wouldn't have needed me, Clarke. Surely you see that?"

Whatever I thought I saw was wrong. Either that or Clarke is just too stubborn to admit to being wrong. Her grip tightens on the harbinger of death. "What I see is a man pretending to be someone he's not. It's the _only_ explanation for your behaviour and attraction towards me."

"No, it's not," I say quietly, resigned to the inevitable fallout. "There's another."

"Oh really?" she says haughtily, mocking my former words. "And what would that be?"

It's either tell her the real truth or die. Frankly I'm not sure she _won't_ still kill me. She's a barely contained ball of wrath and vengeance.

I hold back the large sigh and break the status quo in a big way. "I'm remembering my past life. You. Lexa. Everything. I feel it all."

The madness and hatred recedes instantly, replaced with wide eyes and disbelief. The knife unfortunately, remains where it is, nearly giving me the closest shave of my life.

"No, that's not possible," Clarke chokes out. "That's not how it works."

"This time it is."

"You're lying!" she snarls. "That's all you ever do!"

She needs convincing so I will convince her, sooner rather than later.

"You broke your father's watch during training with Octavia." Her mouth parts open slightly and now that I've got her undivided attention, I will press my lead until she either relents or kills me. "Raven took a photograph of you and Lexa while you walked through Polis for the first time hand in hand. You declared your love for one another on top of the Feva Faya." Her lip is trembling now, eyes glassy. The knife is barely pressing against my jugular any longer. I place my hand gently over top hers to feel it too is trembling. "The last time you held Lexa at knife point, you were also indecisive and ultimately didn't kill her."

Clarke sobs slightly and lets me guide the dagger off my throat, lets me take it away completely. I place it on top of the piano, beside my empty glass. She also lets me hold her hand.

"I know this must be hard to come to terms with, Clarke, and I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I didn't want to tell you before you were ready." _Assuming you ever were_.

She stares at me again like she did before, like she is seeing me clearly for the first time. Then she slips her hand out of mine and vacates the mess hall. I don't go after her. She needs time to process this revelation. I hope this doesn't destroy her all over again.

Sighing, I pour myself another drink.

* * *

 **Clarke literally has no chill. She must make a great first date. Someone keep them daggers away from her!**

 **Let the awkwardness begin! (maybe I dunno)**


	10. Chapter 10

It is now Clarke's turn to ignore and avoid me. She skirts in and out of my presence like a butterfly afraid to land. Once she makes contact she may be ensnared, forced to hear more things she doesn't wish to hear. Forced to feel things she doesn't wish to feel. Not yet, anyway.

I don't push it. I let her be. When she is ready to discuss this further, she will come to me. Of that I have no doubt. In the meantime it is obvious to everyone that something has happened between us. Whereas before she would hardly ever glance away (apparently to catch me up to no good), she can now barely stand to be in the same room, even with dozens present. This has made the daily progress reports on the gliders even more awkward than when _I_ wouldn't look at _her_.

I make note of her friends attempts to probe, to get at the heart of the matter, but Clarke brushes them off and goes her own way. It's all very reminiscent of our limited interactions after we were reunited almost ten months ago.

 _I finally manage to corner her in her room. She is about to leave when I speak._

 _"War is brewing, Clarke. I need you. I need you to help me stop the coalition from fracturing."_

 _Before I know what's happening, she has whirled around, pressing the dagger to my throat. She pushes me into the wall, her actions swift and assured. Her eyes speak of hatred and murder. It breaks my heart to keep looking into them, but like a tragedy in progress, I can't look away._

 _This proximity and intense eye contact seems to unnerve her and I take note of the tremble in her hand. I could easily disarm her at any point, but our relationship is strained enough as it is. I won't use force against her unless absolutely necessary. It's the least I can do to atone for my sins._

 _Gradually the knife recedes until it is completely removed from my throat._

 _She backs off slightly and laughs humourlessly, "Help you stop it? Who do you think has been helping Nia try to break it?"_

 _That takes me aback. I knew Clarke vowed to never bow down to me, but to help the ice queen destroy the coalition? To help the person who caused me so much pain? Could she really hate me THAT much? She knows I only did what needed to be done to save my people. So what's the real reason she's turned on me?_

 _"You...your the ones who placed the request with the conclave for trial by combat?"_

 _As the Wanheda, the one who brought down the mountain, she has a fair amount of clout with my people. A lot of them are unhappy with my dishonourable conduct and losing the glory of destroying one of our greatest foes. My general leniency towards the Skaikru, the veida's, has also not been in my favour. Ironically, most of that was_ _because_ _of Clarke._

 _Clarke seems pleased in a grim way at my surprise. "You betrayed my people, Lexa. You betrayed_ _me_ _. You have to answer for your crimes."_

 _"Do you really want to start another war, Clarke?" I say somewhat heatedly. "If I fall against the Ice Nation champion, that is precisely what will happen. The first thing Nia will do is go after your people. She will slaughter or enslave them all. How could you risk such a fate just to get your revenge?"_

 _Her expression morphs and I see the feral creature she was when she was first brought to Polis. I never meant to turn her into that. How could I do that? How could I destroy the thing I love the most?_

 _She slams the dagger into the wall, right beside my head as she snarls, "You broke my heart, Lexa! That's why!" *_

 _Now I'm really taken aback. Sure she reciprocated the kiss, but I had no idea she felt the same way about me. The revelation is devastating. Commanders aren't supposed to fall in love. It's my own fault that I'm barely keeping my composure right now. I want to embrace her, comfort her, tell her I'm sorry, but it won't do any good. It's too late. Everything between us is already ruined._

 _Gustus once told me that the coalition would be the death of me. This is close enough. Losing Clarke is close enough._

A few days of this flighty behaviour sees Raven, Bellamy, even Abby asking me what's going on between us, but I make no comment. This is a private issue. If Clarke doesn't want them to know right now, I'm not going to be the one to tell them. The only other person that knows is Indra and that's only because she figured it out for herself. I almost think of talking to her about this issue but judging by the way she rolls her eyes at us, she wouldn't be very amenable to much discussion. Feelings and emotions besides rage are not really her forte.

Tired of being cooped up for eleven days straight, Echo and I go out on a hunt. The hydroponic system has not been functioning as well as it should be and we are running low on supplies. Yes, the queen could have warriors out here in the surrounding forest, but somehow I doubt it. On top of the radar, there are cameras scattered at strategic points. It would be difficult for any significant host to keep hidden. That's not to say that no human foe could be nearby, so we are extra vigilant. Bad enough to be caught unawares by the ripa paktrakas. Thankfully, the one thing we don't have to worry about are reapers. The last of them were doomed the night I left Clarke on the mountain.

It should strike me as strange to think of Lexa's past actions as my own, to think of myself as Lexa, but it doesn't anymore. Though we're technically two separate entities, our spirits have entwined together to such a degree that for all intents and purposes, we might as well be the same person. I don't feel like I'm losing myself. It's the opposite. I feel like I'm finding myself, like this was who I was meant to be all along, and I didn't realize what was missing until Lexa chose me. It almost sounds like I'm in love with her, or I suppose, _myself_ , but it's more like I'm loved _by_ her. Unconditionally. Always. Just as Velest did in her own way. But I was so focused on becoming a great warrior that I never truly felt what she had to offer. I never truly felt anything. Because that's not what warriors are supposed to do.

I'm whole now because Lexa is whole. Because she was loved by Clarke in a profound way. Their connection has transcended time and space, even death, and it would be a terrible tragedy if what I feel for her remains one sided forever. But how do you ever get over the death of your soul mate? How do you suddenly transfer those feelings to someone else? How do you stare into the same eyes you stared into thousands of times before and not feel the keen pang of loss? The answer of course, is that you can't. At least, not right away. Perhaps not for a very long time.

Echo opens up to me a bit more and I vice versa, and we quietly reminisce about days gone by, when we were relatively carefree children, who's biggest concerns revolved around scrounging enough supplies to survive the winter in the North. Some of the long ago recollections even make me laugh, scaring off a white hare Echo was about to snare in her previously made trap.

Rather than be irritated with me, she seems amused. "You're right, Enos, you _are_ different. I couldn't see it before, but you are. The commanders spirit suits you." She nudges my shoulder affectionately. "Though you might want to keep the laughter to a minimum from here on out. If I go back empty handed, I'll never hear the end of it." She smirks and flips her hair back. "Bellamy thinks I'm some sort of Greek hunting goddess."

I don't know what compels me to ask the following, but I do. "You two are happy?"

Echo grins wryly. "As happy as two people in near constant battle _can_ be."

I frown at her response, the doubt over my first epic failure creeping back in. "This plan better work."

"If it doesn't, Bellamy and I will just run away together and start a family far away from Nia and her idiot son." Echo nudges my shoulder again. "That was a joke, Enos."

I force a smile, not feeling the humour of the previous moment any longer. "Bellamy was right. I should have just killed her when I had the chance. Why didn't I?"

"Because you would've gotten yourself killed if you had. The commander didn't choose you just so you could die right away."

"Why not?" I wonder aloud. "The commanders spirit endures forever. It wouldn't have mattered if I committed suicide to end this war." Thinking about the broken man, "I could have saved many lives."

Echo is quiet for a bit. "Is that why you tried to go to Polis by yourself? You think your life doesn't matter? Because that sounds awfully...Clarke-like."

"What's going on with you two anyway?" she asks after a lengthy silence.

I sigh, leaning more heavily against the frost covered tree behind me. "I can't talk about that, Echo. It's personal."

"Sure you can. We're family."

She's smiling so warmly at me that I almost feel compelled to cave.

"You can cut my tongue out if I tell anyone."

That catches me off guard and I smile slightly. "Bellamy wouldn't approve." I give her a sly look. "Or perhaps he would. Definitely make you a lot quieter. If anyone's scaring off the game, it's you."

She rolls her eyes at me and then in a fit of childish rebellion, scoops up some snow and tries to dump it on my head. I dodge her assault, just barely, and knock her into the snow. With only one available hand though, I can't keep her pinned down for long, and she easily rolls us, reversing our positions, so that she is now straddling me. She pins my arm to my side so that I can't defend myself and then shoves some dirty snow in my face. I sputter, spitting it out. I don't want to think about what was mixed in there.

She scoops up some more of it, holds it in front of my face. "Do you yield?"

"Never!"

"Okay then," she says with a laugh, "prepare to-"

There's the faint sound of a twig snapping and we look into the distance to see the trap has been sprung. One down, thirty more to go. At this rate we'll be out here all night. And that's when the wolves come out to play.

It's time to get serious and actually go hunting.

* * *

I'm cold, sore and tired from being out for so many hours, but also quite content. There's just something so freeing about being one with nature...even if you have an annoying cousin along for the ride. Then again, maybe it was _because_ she was with me that I feel less burdened. I haven't played like that in a very long time. I'm not yet twenty-five but the fate of thousands of people rests on my shoulders. Lexa was called to lead at sixteen. I don't know how she did it. Without her self-assurance, I would be completely lost.

The deer and a dozen hares we return with makes for a good dinner and everyone seems to be joining in with my quiet contentment (some less quiet than others). Everyone except for Clarke. She's not even in the mess hall. Suddenly I feel gloomy again. It's my fault that she's not enjoying herself with her friends. I know I said I would stay away, but there's an irresistible urge to go see her, make sure she's okay, and before I know it my feet have led me to her room, the one she's sharing with Raven.

I'm about to knock when I hear a sound within. It's muffled and faint through the metal door. The grimy window is covered with a rag and I can't see anything. I press my ear against the cool material in order to try and distinguish the noise better. At first it sounds like she is in distress and I'm about to knock, barge in, whatever is necessary, but then I hear an unmistakable moan of pleasure and I freeze. That's definitely Clarke. I would stake my life on it. Lexa snarls in further affirmation.

My brain swirls with rampant thoughts. Had Raven been in the mess hall either? For the life of me, I can't recall. Could the two good friends be finding solace in one another? Have they been all along? It's really none of my business who she sleeps with, but I'm in love with her and it hurts that it's not me she chose to help her through this difficult time. But I am a significant part of the problem, aren't I? How can you sleep with someone you can't even look at?

The tears prick my eyes as another moan makes its way to my ears. I can't stand to be here any longer so I high tail it out of there.

 _I don't know what I can possibly say to make things better between us, but I have to try. However she doesn't even give me the chance._

 _"Clarke, I-"_

 _"I slept with someone else," she interrupts cruelly. "When I was on my own. I fucked her over and over again and only stopped because the bounty hunter dragged me here."_

 _Now I really can't help the silent tears that are falling. She's gotten her wish, she's pushed me to my breaking point._

 _I don't blame her for doing what she did. She needed a human connection. Without it she would have gone permanently insane and feral. I should only be grateful to whoever it was that led her back to herself and some semblance of humanity, but I'm not. To know that she had cared deeply, possibly loved me back and then gone and been intimate with someone else was hard to bear. We were so close to having it all. But my people come first. They will always come first._

 _"Does this make you feel better, Clarke," I say as calmly as I can manage. The slight warble in my voice is unavoidable. "Does my pain make you feel better?"_

 _Clarke steps back a bit more, seems to be conflicted again, as if she didn't think I had real feelings. Besides a single tear on the mountain, I've never let her see me cry before. And even that I'm not sure she noticed. If only she knew how much I have cried since then. Anya would be ashamed of my uncontrollable weakness._

 _"You're damn straight it does," she says with forced conviction, or what I perceive as being forced. I'm not certain of much anymore. Clarke is a complete wild card, ruled by her heart. Her broken heart. A broken heart that I created...and share._

 _"Well, I'm glad to be of service," I say quietly and then leave the room._

* * *

Imagine my surprise when in the middle of the night there is a knock on my door and who should be standing there but Clarke herself. I had first thought it was going to be Indra or someone else with dire news about the Ice Nation, that they had somehow found a way in despite all of our precautions set up in the tunnels. And following that logic, my sleep addled brain decided it was actually more likely that an assassin was waiting on the other side of that door. Because of this, I have a dagger in hand, ready to strike. I'm only partially wrong. Clarke _did_ attempt to kill me on more than one occasion.

She eyes the blade, takes a step back, almost seems ready to leave altogether. I hastily toss it onto the bed, completely alert now. Clarke is here and she is even looking me in the eyes, albeit fleetingly. I hardly dare to breathe for fear of missing what comes next.

"Can I come in?" she asks timidly, as if she fears I will just slam the door in her face. A small part of me wants to do just that, but a much larger part is far too curious to let it. Besides, it's clear she's been crying. I'm not about to abandon her now.

I nod and step aside, let her pass. As she does so I get another whiff of that indescribable scent. The other ones are missing. Apparently she hasn't bathed in awhile. I find that a little odd considering she has access to showers and she was just sleeping with someone a few hours ago. Not that _I_ smell all that great. I also haven't showered in recent days but not because of depression. It's just not our people's way.

I close the door and we are now sealed in together in a much smaller space than we have shared in days. The ensuing silence hangs heavy and awkward between us. I don't know what she wants from me so I will wait for her to explain. She sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the ground, as if composing herself.

Then she glances up and says something I never expected to hear. "Will you hold me, Enos?"

Considering how our last interaction went, I am a little wary to let down my guard completely. For all I know this is another ploy to get the better of me. Still, my desire to comfort her overrides my caution.

When I don't immediately respond she stands up and mutters, "Never mind, this was a stupid idea."

I'm blocking her path though and rather than step aside, I encircle her waist and pull her closer, but not too close. In case she feels uncomfortable she can easily leave my one armed embrace. My heart beats faster when she wraps her arms around my back and presses her body against mine. I bring my cast hand up to try and hold her better, but it's completely covered so there's no possibility of reliable grip.

She buries her face in the crook of my neck, her mass of dirty hair getting in my mouth. I don't really mind. It tastes a lot better than that snow. Her tears follow soon after, dampening the collar of my shirt. Instinctively I kiss the top of her head, something Lexa used to do when Clarke was feeling sad. I freeze once more when I feel her moist lips brush against my neck, then linger. She recognizes my tension and pulls away slightly. "Sorry," she murmurs. "I didn't mean to do that."

"It's okay, Clarke," I say, bringing my hand up to wipe away her tears. "I didn't mind."

Lexa snorts at my understatement of the century.

She nods and the hug resumes for some time, the tears recommencing, my chest aching for her more and more. Eventually she pulls away altogether and goes back to sitting on the edge of the bed. I stay where I am, afraid that if I follow, I will be tempted to take advantage of her emotional state. Strange how I suddenly feel noble about this when only hours ago I was so crushed by her sharing her bed with another. I suppose that is part of the reason I'm holding back now. If she truly wanted to be with me in that way, she would've come to me then.

Clarke wipes the rest of her tears away and then looks to me. She seems remarkably composed now. She was always very good at compartmentalizing. Until she wasn't...and went insane.

"You said before that you feel it all. What does that mean exactly?"

I don't want to lie, but I'm not about to say I'm in love with her.

"It's complicated," I offer vaguely, the sort of answer that irritates Clarke. At least it wasn't in the form of a question.

She breathes out a chuckle, runs her hands through her messy hair. "Yeah, I bet. It was always complicated between us. And now that she's..." Clarke licks her lips and continues with, "Does it bother you? Being made to feel things you didn't ask to feel?"

I get the impression that this conversation is going to be lengthy and potentially draining for both of us. I move to sit on the couch opposite of her. I'm going to attempt to be as truthful with her as I can, without saying something stupid that will only hurt her. I don't know if that's even possible, but I will try my best.

"It did at first, and it was overwhelming and confusing, but I've gotten used to it. I'm not afraid anymore."

"So you're okay with having feelings for women now?" She hesitates. "You're okay with having feelings for _me_?"

I simply nod. She seems puzzled by my response. "How _can_ you be though? Your whole life has literally been flipped upside down and inside out. Hijacked by a stranger."

"She's not a stranger, Clarke. She's a part of me." _She is me. And I am her_.

Clarke contemplates that for a bit. "Does she ever make you do things you don't want to do?"

I smile faintly. "Besides making me bite my tongue, and cut my beard off, no. I'm not her puppet, though sometimes it does feel like it."

Clarke doesn't seem to find this amusing. She stares at me very seriously and says, "Do you think it's real? What you feel?"

"I _know_ it's real," I respond softly.

She bites her lip. "But if Lexa..." she gestures vaguely, "went away tomorrow, would it still be real? Would you still be attracted to me?"

I'd probably die if our spirits were somehow separated at this point, so I don't really think it's a valid concern. Trying to steer the conversation away from morbid things, I say, "I don't know. But I have no knowledge of a commanders spirit being able to simply leave its host." _while it's still living._

All of these questions are following a similar theme but I don't dare to hope that it means what I think it means. The last time I thought something pleasant might happen, I got a dagger to the throat. There's another silence and I contemplate asking her if she feels anything for me, but I can't see how she could. She's still grieving the loss of her lover...with someone else. Instead I get up and sit down beside her, the old bed springs groaning in protest. I don't touch her, if she wants to be held again, she'll let me know.

Clarke turns to me, stares into my eyes unflinchingly and says, "I'd like to try something. I'd like to kiss you, Enos...if that's okay."

I dip my head, trying to keep my eagerness at bay. Lexa laughs at me some more. She's starting to get really annoying, like Echo. Clarke sweeps a strand of hair out of my face, her fingertips gliding along my sensitive skin, behind my ear, making me shiver slightly in anticipation. Her hand comes to rest at the side of my neck. Slowly she leans in. The first contact reminds me of my butterfly analogy. Fleeting, hesitant. She's giving me plenty of time to change my mind, to pull away. Not unlike another first kiss.

I ease her mind, bring my hand up to her waist, kiss her a little more firmly, to say that yes, Clarke, I want this. The question remains, do you?

She gently nips and sucks on my bottom lip in answer. I can't help but exhale shakily.

I've kissed a number of men before, but most were gruff warriors with full beards who weren't exactly gentle. This is the complete opposite of that. Clarke is smooth and soft and sensuous and makes me melt all the more for it. No wonder Lexa made me shave my beard off. I thought it was just because _she_ didn't like its foreignness. I had no idea it was for Clarke's benefit.

I don't mean to do it, and I wish Lexa stopped me before I did – or perhaps she's to blame - but I bop her nose softly with mine, before attempting to kiss her some more. Like a flashback come to life, she jerks away, looking conflicted. I blink stupidly, wondering why the lips that taste so familiar, that make me forget all my troubles, are no longer on mine.

"I'm sorry," she says, her breath a little shallow. "I wasn't expecting...I'm not ready. I don't know if I'll ever be." Gently, she holds my still healing face in her hands. There are a few scars running through her own tanned skin. She has finally received visible battle scars. "It's just so hard to look in your eyes and see her, and _know_ she's in there too, but not have her here in the flesh. It's almost worse than losing her completely."

Based on her reaction it sounds like she might actually be able to feel something for me. Clarke loves quickly and deeply, same as me. But recovering from the fallout is always a lengthy process.

"I understand," I say, doing my best to keep my devastation hidden.

Looking grieved she says, "You always did," then kisses my forehead and leaves.

* * *

 **Clarke always kisses people between 10-12 days of knowing them. Just keeping with tradition. Lol.**

* **I thought of saying 'your head crushed my heart', but that sounded stupid. Also, we're all under the impression that Lexa is fighting for the Skaikru's right to** _ **join**_ **the coalition. But what if it's more like what I've laid out? What if she's throwing the fucking spear at Clarke?! Dun dun dun!**

 **Veida's = invaders**

 **Ripa Patktrakas = Killer wolves**

 **Anyway, super stoked for tonight! IT'S FINALLY HERE BITCHES!  
**


	11. Chapter 11

**OMG that premiere! AHHHH!**

 **Just a quick note. I went back to chaps 1 and 6 and changed 'demon' to wanheda. Not sure why I didn't just go with that in the first place.**

 **Anyway, back to different depressing shite. Oh and warning, there are some slight S3E1 spoilers in here, so if you haven't watched it yet, get on that branwada!**

* * *

I'm once again scrounging for glider parts in the mountain's huge junk pile when Octavia marches up to me and without any preamble says, "Indra told me that Lexa's feelings transferred to Enos and that you're dodging him because you must have found out. Is she right?"

I'm rather startled by the suddenness and crassness of the question. Since when did Indra know? What if _I_ hadn't known?

Matching her gruff attitude I put down the piece of whatever the hell it is and climb down so that we're on level ground. "What of it?"

Octavia seems annoyed by the question. "Aren't you going to _do_ something about it?"

"What do you expect me to do?" I frown.

"Oh, I don't know," responds Octavia sarcastically, " _be_ with him."

Was she for real? "How the hell can you say that, O?! I just lost Lexa!"

She scowls at me. "If I had a second chance with Lincoln, I wouldn't hesitate to take it."

So that's what this is all about. Suddenly her accosting me like this makes sense. Suddenly her readiness to believe Enos was the commander, that reincarnation was actually possible, makes sense. Lincoln also died protecting the woman he loved, but that was months ago and we haven't come across anyone who reminds her of him. Probably because only the commanders spirit inhabits already fully formed, living hosts. Everyone else's goes into babies – human or otherwise - just born. Or so the grounders say.

"You don't know what it's like, O," I say a little softer but still in an irritated manner. "Yes, he reminds me of Lexa in a lot of ways, but he's _not_ her. It's _not_ the same thing. I can't force myself to feel something for him."

"Cut the crap, Clarke. I've seen the way you look at him, you feel something. You're just afraid to follow through."

"Haven't I earned that right?" I retort with my previous heat. "Everyone I love dies! Everyone!"

"Yeah life sucks," says Octavia unfeelingly. "People die all the time. Are you just going to cut yourself off for the rest of your life?"

"I'm not ready, okay!" I explode. "I've barely had time to process Lexa's death!" I shove her in the chest. "How would _you_ feel if you saw Lincoln's head on a fucking pike?!"

That makes her look even broodier than before. The silence drags on and then finally she says, "All I know is that we're heading back to Polis soon and we need to function as a whole unit. So you two better figure this out before then or we're going to repeat your last misadventure." Her eyes skirt over my somewhat scarred face. "I for one don't feel like getting cut up."

Octavia's words stay with me all day and so when dinner is announced I don't feel like going. I don't want to risk running into him.

"Come _on_ , Clarke," says Raven, tugging on my arm, trying to get me to put down my pencil. I'm putting the finishing touches on the depiction of Polis. Or at least that's what I say. The detailed rendering was done awhile ago. Now I'm just fortifying lines already drawn. "You have to eat something at some point. There's deer this time. Your favourite."

"You go on without me, Raven," I say without looking up, "I'll catch up soon."

Raven sighs. "That's what you _always_ say." She shakes her head. "If you don't show up tonight, I'm going to have to start force feeding you. Abby and I will hold you down if needs be. We're not going to let you waste away."

"Sounds good," I reply, pretending not to be paying attention.

Raven huffs in frustration and leaves me be. As soon as she's gone I put the pencil down and crawl into bed. I clutch my pillow - formerly Lexa's - against my chest and bury my face in it, desperately trying to catch a whiff of her. Night by night it's been getting fainter and I'm terrified that one day it'll be gone completely. What am I supposed to do then? How am I supposed to sleep?

Blindly, I reach up and over for her favourite book residing on the nightstand. Peeking my head above the pillow, I open _The_ _Call of the Wild_ and pull out the photographs of us. There's only three surviving ones. There used to be dozens. There used to be an entire sketchbook of Lexa in various different poses, doing various different things. I try not to think about that though and be thankful for what I do have.

The first was taken after the ceremony that united our people and gave us Lexa's protection from the Ice Nation. I'm in full on grounder gear, most of which looks ridiculous in hindsight, but I don't really care because Lexa was so enthralled with my appearance that we ended up making love for the first time that night. Even in this picture she couldn't take her eyes off me. Just thinking about her hot predatory gaze sends shivers through me, a faint tingle down below.

I skip over the second photograph, the one documenting our Polis excursion, and move to the third one. It was taken a couple of hours after the first one. Except in this one, we're nude. Lexa is splayed out beneath me, sweaty and exhausted and half asleep. My war paint is splotched all over her relatively flawless skin. Her exhaustion is the only reason I was even able to take this photograph. She grumbled in displeasure when the flash went off and subsequently tackled me onto the furs when I laughed at her.

Thinking about the commander punishing me for my insolence produces a small pool of hot liquid in my underwear. I know this throbbing isn't going to go away anytime soon, not with the near constant flashes of that glorious night getting me riled up more and more, so I start attending to it. Just like when I slept with Niylah, I close my eyes and try to imagine it's Lexa that's touching me, Lexa that's pleasuring me, Lexa that's making me whimper and moan.

Near the peak of my pleasure I'm surprised when an image of a shirtless Enos sneaks in there, his washboard abs and pecs glistening with sweat. I'm even more surprised when the image persists and turns into a fantasy of him pressing me against the wall and devouring my face. He rips off my shirt and starts kissing me everywhere, then pulls down my pants and kneels. I find my release a few moments later.

 _What the hell?_ I think, panting, eyes shooting open.

It's not ideal, and frankly somewhat distressing, me fantasizing about the new commander when I'm not over the previous one. Still, I'm glad I was able to finally relieve some stress and tension. All previous attempts abruptly ended when Lexa's severed head made an unwanted appearance. And just like that I am curled into a ball, hugging her pillow tightly, crying my eyes out.

I pretend to be asleep when Raven returns. I can hear her sigh again and smell the saliva inducing food she places on my nightstand. She's right, I'm being stupid. I haven't eaten much of anything since Enos told me the truth. I just don't know how to deal with that.

Octavia's words echo yet again, _I've seen the way you look at him, you feel something. You're just afraid to follow through._

I debate and war with myself for hours on how to proceed but finally I just force myself up and start making my way towards his room. The hallways are empty and eerie, the mechanical hum of the mountain permeating the air. Funny how we went from one tin can to another. Thankfully, unlike if we were camped somewhere, there is no guard posted outside, so I don't have to deal with them.

I steady my breath and after three failed attempts, knock.

* * *

 _Why did I listen to Octavia?_ I grumble to myself as I aimlessly pace the halls. _I've just made everything even more awkward between us!_

Worst of all, I can't stop thinking about the kiss, how it was so similar to the way Lexa kissed me. It's damn unnerving and screwed up. Everything's always so screwed up. Why can't anything be simple in my life?

The more I think about it, the more angry I get, and before I know it, I'm back outside Enos' door. I bang on it until he finally yanks it open.

"Clarke, what-"

"I want to talk to Lexa!" I yell, forcing him backwards into the room with my body.

"It doesn't work like that," he says slowly, like he's talking to a child, continuing to back away from me. "I can't summon her on command. There has to be a great need."

"There _is_ a great need!" I roar, getting even more into his personal space. "I want to tell her what an idiot she was!"

"Clarke-"

I shove him hard in the chest, the backs of his knees hit the bed and he just barely manages to keep his feet. I stare into his eyes when I bark, "You hear that Lexa, you were a goddamn idiot! You gave yourself up for nothing! We could've figured something else out! But you had to go and be all noble and sacrifice yourself! I hate you! I hate you! You broke my heart _again_!" My voice cracks as I sob, "How am I supposed to keep on going without you?"

I'm not sure when it happened but I'm in Enos' arms again. I hate how I feel so comfortable here like I've been here hundreds of times before. His arms aren't remotely like Lexa's, so how is that even possible?

Enos whispers in my ear, "She says you're strong. You'll find a way. You always do."

Then he starts humming 'our' song, swaying me gently and I want to cry or yell or _something,_ because how the hell is that supposed to help me get passed her? But I'm so emotionally and physically drained that I wobble on my feet instead. Enos guides me to the bed and lays me down. He pulls the covers over me and then turns, presumably to go sleep on the couch. I miss his warmth so I grab his wrist and keep him in place. "Stay," I murmur, already drifting off. He lays beside me and though he's barely touching, it is enough.

* * *

In the morning I feel oddly well rested. Probably because I didn't have a single nightmare. That's almost unheard of for me these days. It takes me a few seconds to realize where I am, and who's arm is wrapped around my stomach. Rather than be alarmed by this, I'm once more comforted by his proximity...well almost. There is a slight issue. Because one or both of us pressed up against the other in our sleep, well...Enos now has another boner, and it's pressing into the small of my back. Just as he can't control what he dreams about, I know this wasn't intentional. It's a perfectly natural and common male affliction...but I don't really want to _feel_ it anymore, or think about what he might have been dreaming about to induce it. So I stealthily extricate myself from his embrace and make my way to the door.

Before I manage to get more than a few steps away however, he says, "How are you feeling today, Clarke?"

I turn around to face him and damn if his frizzy morning hair doesn't remind me of Lexa's. With a forced slight smile I reply, "Better. Thanks."

Enos nods vaguely and returns the smile. "I'm glad." He props himself up on an elbow, apparently completely unaware of his boner. "Are you heading to the mess hall now?"

I suppose he's doing what everyone's been doing. Trying to keep me fit and healthy. It's a constant battle, one I've been losing for the most part. Still, there's a part of me somewhere beyond the numbness and pain that's happy that people still care, even when I've been treating them like shit.

I realize I'm staring at the slight bulge in his shorts and then hastily glance off to the side.

 _Surely he must have noticed by now? I mean, it's_ _right_ _there!_

"Uh, actually, I was thinking I would go take a shower. I feel kind of gross." I not so subtly sniff an armpit and recoil. How the hell did he stand to be so close to me for so long? I almost chuckle when I think of what Niylah must have endured. She was a trooper, that's for sure. "Yeah, I definitely need one," I say sourly.

"Allow me to join you," he says casually and I just about collapse in surprise.

Another shirtless image makes an unwanted appearance and I can't stop the slight flush that graces my face. "Um, Enos," I say awkwardly shifting, eyes on the floor, "I don't know what you think happened here..." pointlessly I gesture between us, "but nothings changed."

There's a painfully long silence (at least in my mind) before he says, " _Separate_ showers, Clarke."

 _Idiot! I'm an idiot!_

I flush further and then chance a look back into those alluring, haunting eyes; equally compelling and repelling. He's clearly amused, and somewhat hopeful at my misconception. It's damn heartbreaking. As difficult as this is for me, it must be equally so for him. Probably even more so. If he remembers...if he _feels_ what Lexa felt for me...well, damn, I can't even comprehend how he's restraining himself from touching me at every opportunity. Lexa sure as hell couldn't when we were alone together. Then again, he's _not_ Lexa. I have to keep reminding myself that. I'm a little distressed at how difficult it's becoming, boners notwithstanding.

I again catch myself staring and again force myself to look away. I nod at the ground. "Okay, I guess we could go there together."

"What do you keep staring at, Clarke?" he asks, politely confused.

 _Is he serious?!_

"Clarke?"

He pushes himself into a sitting position. Then he looks down and goes, "Oh."

 _About freaking time!_

He gives me an apologetic look, "Perhaps you should go on ahead."

I almost make it to the door before he adds, "I'll see you in the mess hall then."

I sigh, resigned to my fate.

 _The living are hungry_ , I think sadly.

* * *

To avoid much chance of any more Enos fantasies crossing my mind, I shower as quickly as possible given my ample amounts of hair. I'm more or less successful by simply reminding myself over and over again that I killed his best friend. The hot water heater not functioning well also aids me in my quest. The whole freaking mountain is falling apart. No wonder the bastards were so desperate to get out of here. If we don't reclaim Polis soon, it's back to bathing in the streams again, and shitting in the woods, and I for one never much enjoyed that, not with threats all around. Bad enough dealing with swarms of giant mosquitoes fully clothed.

I'm anxious to go into the mess hall, to see him in public. To possibly sit with him. Outside of the daily meetings, we've barely interacted since Polis. People are going to be able to tell that something _else_ is up and I really don't want to deal with all the questions. We keep going back and forth between hate and...well, it's complicated and oh so familiar. Just once I would love to have a simple love life. But I guess that's too much to ask for the Wanheda.

Over a year later and it's still a struggle to walk around the mountain and not feel guilty. However, nothing compares to every time I walk into the mess hall and see everyone dead again; 'mess' is right. It's usually only for a second, but it's enough to unnerve me and I often wish I never had to come in here ever again. But I wasn't about to make people cater to me when my people moved here after the Azgeda destroyed 'Arkadia'. Especially since it was _my_ initial involvement with Nia that led to her undermining Lexa's authority and eventually steal enough clans to start the war to ends all wars.

I bear it all so that they don't have to. I'll always bear it all until it destroys me beyond saving. Twice I've succumbed to madness. Once because of genocide. Once because of Lexa. One more will probably be the last straw and I'll never recover, my mind broken beyond repair. The really frightening thing is that I've only been on Earth for a little over a year. Will I even live long enough to see the next one? Do I even deserve to after what I've done to survive?

"There you are," says Raven with a smile. She gets up a little stiffly from the table and hugs me. Though she eventually relented and got hip surgery, she still has bad days, especially in the winter, but she never complains. "Damn, and you smell _good_."

I roll my eyes but I'm smiling as I sit down across from her. Raven shoves her plate towards me and my stomach audibly growls in anticipation. However, she makes no comment about this and just watches me shove food in my face with increasing urgency. My mouth is nearly bursting when Enos walks in the room and I just about choke when he starts heading towards me. Perceptive as ever (minus the incident this morning) he veers off course and sits with Bellamy and Echo instead further down the table. Octavia is also sitting with them and she looks between us and gives me a faint smile. I don't want to know what she thinks happened between us last night.

I'm not spared much scrutiny when Raven seriously says, "So, I woke up in the middle of the night and you weren't there."

Octavia's looking at me again, and for good reason. Enos is not so subtly staring in my direction every few seconds. Keeping my calm I say, "Couldn't sleep." Which is code for nightmares.

Raven nods, seemingly accepting this explanation but giving me a pointed look as though to say she doesn't buy it. Still, she doesn't press further.

"So are we going to test out the gliders today?" I say, smoothly changing the topic.

"You can't rush perfection, Griffin," she says smugly, leaning backwards, hands behind her head.

"They don't need to be perfect, Raven, they just need to get us there." I've been impatient to get this over with. One way or another this everlasting war was going to end. Preferably with the ice bitches head on her own fucking pike, but I'm not going to be too picky at this point. Dead is dead. Jus Drein Jus Daun.

Possibly some of my irritation seeped through in my voice because Raven loses the smug attitude. "I was thinking we'd test them this afternoon. That cool with you?"

"Sounds good."

* * *

Preferring swords these days, I haven't used a gun in a really long time, so practicing with the tranquilizer rifles has been tricky. We're supposed to blend in during this stealth mission, so I don't even know if I'll end up taking this weapon to Polis, but I'd rather not be completely rusty in case I do. Kane keeps trying to show me the correct stance and grip but I can't seem to get it right. This type of weapon is just so foreign to me now. Plus, I'm distracted by Enos, who also decided he should learn how to use a gun, something Lexa never got around to doing. Since he's only got one hand to him, he's practicing with a pistol, shooting rubber bullets into a well worn target.

Kane takes me aside and in that whispery voice of his says, "You seem distracted, Clarke. You need to focus."

I nod at his obvious observations.

He studies me for a bit and then places his hands on my shoulders, makes me look him in the eyes. "Your mothers been very concerned about you lately."  
I try not to roll my eyes at that. Isn't she always?

"And so have I. I know we don't always get along, but I've come to care about you a great deal..."

Out of the corner of my eye, I stare at the obsidian coloured ring on his left hand, the one my father used to wear. If I was dumber than I am, I'd say that Abby and Kane were having an affair on the Ark, that all that animosity was just for show, that they were only too happy to have an excuse to float Jake. My mom may be a lot of things but a cheater is not one of them.

Though he's now technically my step-father, I still think and refer to him by his last name. I'm not being a rebellious teenager that will never accept him in his new role. I have much more important things to concern myself over than who is sharing my mothers bed. It just doesn't sound right to call him Marcus. Only my mom calls him that.

"...so if there's anything you wish to discuss, anything you don't want Abby to know, anything at all that's troubling you, I'm here for you. You know that, right?"

While I do believe he _would_ keep my secrets in confidence...at least to a certain degree, he's really not the person I want to confide in. If I can't talk to Raven about this stuff, I'm _definitely_ not going to with him.

Ironically, my mother would be the most likely to understand what I'm going through. We both inadvertently killed the love of our lives. Which is probably why I've been keeping her at arms length. I can't handle the fact that I'm exactly like her, that I'm _worse_ than her. She was doing what she thought was right when she betrayed my dad, I was just consumed with hatred, with a need to hurt Lexa as much as possible. In the end, all I did was hurt myself.

As to the Enos stuff, the only one who can really understand that is, well, Enos. I glance in his direction, only to find him staring at me, as if he can read my thoughts. Lexa always seemed to know what I was thinking so we often went entire days not even speaking to one another. I'm pretty sure that's not a commander power – though I wouldn't rule it out completely - just extremely good observational skills.

I look back to Kane and say, "Yeah, I know."

He seems somewhat disappointed when I don't immediately spill my guts to him right then and there. But he gets over it quickly and releases my shoulders. He puts the rifle back in my hands. "Okay, then. Once more."

* * *

As promised, Raven breaks out the gliders for testing in the afternoon. She's already done a few weight and aerodynamics tests, but not with any people attached. It would be stupid if we all tried them out at once, only to all get hurt. We're definitely not jumping off the mountain on the first go, though that will be the final goal. I'm not sure how I feel about soaring for two hours in the frigid cold but it's the only way to transport all of us there in a timely fashion. Every vehicle we had was destroyed beyond repair or commandeered in the war. Raven can't ride a horse for that length of time without being somewhat immobilized. And I'm not going to make her stay behind when she's the one who made the gliders and has been saving our asses this entire time. Besides, it's the closest she's ever going to get to zero-g again, the closest she'll ever be to forgetting about her handicap, the closest she'll get to true happiness.

And even more importantly, we have it on pretty good authority that the queen has significantly expanded her reach outside of Polis. Nia's not stupid. She knows we're going to try to get in there again. So riding up close to the city and jumping out of a tree instead won't work without being spotted or attacked in the process. Instead we have to travel nearly seventy miles in the air, loaded with our supplies and weapons, in the dark (using night vision goggles), hope there's no snowstorm, and quietly land within without anyone being the wiser. Simple, right?

All this effort just to get over a freaking twenty foot high wall.

The gliders themselves are lighter than I would have expected considering all the random parts they were cobbled out of. We're all spaced out near the bottom of the mountain, a little higher than the treeline, overlooking a frozen lake. There's a group of people a little behind us, curious to see what's going to happen. My mom is among them, med kit in hand, probably certain someone's about to get hurt badly. I have complete confidence in Raven's inventive abilities, but she's never made something like this before and she had no references to go by except for some vague stuff she remembered from our time on the Ark. We're not that high up, but still high enough to break something if the gliders don't work at all. I can't imagine that will be the case but I'm not eager to go first. Thankfully I don't have to.

Just like with the rope our first day on Earth, Jasper volunteers to go first. We've all had our issues with him this past year, but he finally came back to himself and got over Maya's death. If there's hope for him, maybe there's hope for me?

Raven explains and demonstrates the control mechanism and then he lowers his goggles and he's off on the maiden voyage. We all hold our breath as he soars through the air, just skimming the tops of the trees. He whoops in glee, a few others joining him. He glides above the lake for a few minutes before rotating slightly and heading back. He nearly crashes into us. Bellamy and a few others have to practically dive out of the way. The landings are going to be the tricky part. But we always knew that. None the worse for wear, Monty and Jasper hug each other, yelling happily in a way I haven't heard in a long time. I can't help but smile (I just hope they don't cause an avalanche).

"You did it Raven!" shouts Jasper, high-fiving her with gusto, the wide eyed fifteen year old making a reappearance.

"Of course I did," she replies smugly. "I'm awesome."

As others strap in to their harnesses and take to the air, I watch as Raven goes over to Enos and starts demonstrating how his modified controls will work. His cast can't come off for several weeks yet, and the commander can't be left behind. I'm not sure what's wrong with me but I'm getting perturbed by how close they are standing and how long this demonstration is going on for. Because really, how complicated can it be? And does she have to keep touching his hand like that? And smiling? And why is he smiling _back_?

 _Oh God, am I jealous?!_

I see Octavia give me another knowing look and then she jumps off the hill to join the others. In a rare moment of abandon, she too cries in exhilaration. Besides me, Enos and Raven, Indra has yet to take flight. I think out of all of us, she is probably the most apprehensive and dubious about this form of transport. But she would never be left behind for this fight, so she will suck it up and literally throw caution to the wind. When the others come back, the four of us nod to one another and then jump. For a second it's reminiscent of jumping off of the dam, but then an updraft catches the sail and I'm light and soaring, free as a bird.

I laugh, look towards Raven to see she is grinning ear to ear, clearly having the time of her life (at least since coming to the ground anyway) and I am ecstatic to see her so carefree and _happy_. I almost start crying because I'm so happy _for_ her.

I laugh again when I see Indra, and damned if she doesn't look queasy. Finally, I look to Enos. He also looks a little queasy but I don't find it funny. Even from this distance he's clearly terrified. I feel bad that he's so uncomfortable. Our eyes meet and he forces a smile.

My heart drops when I see him try to turn one handed, but the controls don't work properly and he plummets towards the ground.

* * *

 **Poor bastard, can't catch a break. Oh snap, yes he can.**

 **Okay I lied Tipsy, Jasper snuck back in here and even got a whole line. A thousand apologies. But surely Indra hang gliding made up for that, right? XD**

 **I think it's inevitable that Abby is going to marry Kane. The ring around her neck is in almost every shot. It's going to come off one day, same as Raven's raven, but in a happier way. I honestly never know who to pair Raven with. No one's ever good enough for her. Octavia's a free agent now...but I don't think so.**

 **And yeah, Lincoln's dead too...I was debating that from the get go, so I didn't mention him. I don't know if he's actually going to die this season, what with the kill order and impending war, but it is a possibility...just like it is for literally everyone except for Clarke and Bellamy...so anyway, I'm not sure what my point here is...except that there was supposed to be a parallel between Lincoln and Lexa.**


	12. Chapter 12

I've never been more terrified than in the seconds after I lose control of my glider and careen towards the frozen lake. Frantically I fumble with the controls, try to even out, _anything_. At the last moment I manage to pull up slightly, but I still land heavily on the ice, instantly crashing through it. I gasp in shock at the sheer coldness of the water on my body and face, and then choke on it when it floods my lungs, losing precious oxygen. The sail is keeping me near the surface, its wings resting on unbroken ice, holding me up. But I'm still drowning because the harness keeps dipping forward, shoving my face back under. And now the much lighter glider is starting to collapse in on itself, starting to sink. Fear claws at my heart as I paw at the harness release in desperation. The latch finally gives way before the glider can drag me under with it.

Spluttering, I strike out with my good hand, try to grab onto a solid edge, but I can't get a decent hold of the surrounding ice. I thrash around wildly, but it is short lived. The extreme cold is rapidly sapping my strength. My clothing is heavy and getting heavier by the second. The cast feels like a dead weight by my side, an anchor dragging me down. It's all very reminiscent of my near death experience as a child. Except, Velest isn't here to save me this time. I'm doomed.

 _Calm yourself, Enos!_ orders Lexa in a no nonsense manner.

 _Easy for you to say!_ I retort back. _You're already dead!_

 _You need to keep moving,_ she says, ignoring my remark _. No matter how tired you feel. Keep moving. Don't give in to the lethargy. Don't give in to the fear. Keep moving._

 _I can't! I can't! It's too hard!_

 _You are strong, Enos. Don't give up. Help is coming._

 _What help?!_ I shoot back. _Look around you Lexa! There's no one else here!_

Even as I say this, I become cognizant of a glider swooping in nearby. They skim and then skate across the ice for a few feet before coming to a halt a safe distance back. I can barely see above the ice anymore so I can't tell who it is until they're practically on top of me. My stomach drops when I see that it is Clarke.

"Hang on, Enos!"

"Get out of here, Clarke!" I say feebly. "It's not safe!"

Ignoring me completely - just like Lexa - she lies flat on her stomach and extends both arms out to me. "Come on! Take my hands!"

I barely manage to get my right hand up, but as soon as I do, she snatches it between hers and pulls, grunts with the effort. I'm too heavy for her to handle from this position though and she starts sliding forward. No way in hell I'm dragging her down with me.

"Save yourself!" I yell, trying to extricate my hand from her fearsome grip and failing.

"Not happening!" she says stubbornly. She tries to pull me out this way for a few more moments and then when she still can't manage it, she lets go. And then to my horror she hops in beside me, gasping at the cold, and goes under and shoves me upwards from below. I'm startled from the jolt but I get high enough to get a better grasp on the ice and hold on. Clarke surfaces, teeth chattering, surveying her efforts, then drops under again and shoves me up with everything she has. I flop onto the ice like a seal. Unlike a seal, I'm exhausted and numb and scared for Clarke now.

I don't need to worry for long because she pulls herself out soon after, lies down beside me, panting hard and shivering away. She doesn't rest long though before she's forcing herself to her feet and grabbing me by the hand. She drags me a few feet away from the considerable hole before coming to a halt, dropping to one knee.

Other gliders come in shortly after. Raven and Indra hurry over to us and guide us to safety. Being more solid and stronger, Indra takes responsibility over me. She glares at Raven and the damnable contraptions she created.

"I'm so sorry, Enos!" says Raven as we make our way off the ice. "I don't know what happened! I could swear those controls were working fine!"

"Yes, and your error almost cost the commander his life," responds Indra, voice cold as ice.

"Guys, p-please don't start b-bickering," says Clarke groggily, when Raven looks ready to defend herself further. "I've g-g-got a bad enough headache as it is."

Come to think of it, so do I. The frigid water got in my eardrums and now they are pounding painfully. It feels like they have popped, but I can still hear, so I know they haven't.

Half way back to the mountain, more of the Skaikru run up to us, Clarke's mother and father included. They've got blankets in hand which they throw over us. Abby and Kane are hovering around Clarke, looking as worried as I feel. She shoos them away but then sways on the spot. Raven struggles to keep her upright so Kane scoops his daughter into his arms and starts moving full steam ahead back to the warmth of the mountain. No one tries this maneuver with me. As long as I am conscious, no one will. To pick the commander up as if they were a child would be the ultimate insult. Besides which, I'm not supposed to appear weak. It's bad enough that I'm relying heavily on Indra for support. When I was with Clarke escaping the pauna, that was only acceptable assistance because no one else was present.

The walk back to the mountain feels even longer than the hallway that led to Nia. It's only with Lexa's continuous chatter in my ear that I'm able to keep conscious. Even with a blanket on me, I'm shivering and so incredibly cold and above all _tired_ by the time we arrive at our destination. I have a feeling it isn't good for the human body to be exposed to those kinds of temperatures twice within two weeks. I can only hope it doesn't have lasting nerve damage. I'm impaired enough as it is, and we've still got a war to win.

It's difficult enough to dress and undress with one good hand, it's impossible when it is shaking uncontrollably. Thankfully by this point I've basically passed out, so I'm hardly aware of who's hands are on me removing my drenched and debilitating clothing. A sudden warmth spreads across my numb arms and I wonder at it vaguely. I crack my eyes open wide enough to see a man rubbing his white gloved hands all over my biceps and making his way across my chest.

"J-jackson?" I say, slightly more wide eyed. "W-what are you d-doing?"

"Applying thermal paste," he says in doctor mode, but still with a kind smile.

"Thermal paste?" I parrot back.

He nods, picks up a brown container and squirts some more into his hand. He starts sliding his hands down my abdomen and despite myself, I'm beginning to feel aroused at the sight. I'm still me enough for my body to have a physical attraction to the same sex. The heat from the paste is only enhancing the experience, creating delightful tingles everywhere that is unfreezing.

"It was devised some time before the bombs hit. They had some in storage." He raises an eyebrow. "Judging by your reaction, I take it that it still works?"

Yes, it is working quite well, especially now that he is almost at my thighs.

I nod and then look around me, anything to distract myself from him going lower. I see that we're in an enclosed space, a curtain drawn all the way around for privacy. It's far too quiet to be in the medical bay, so I deduct that this is one of the birthing and/or surgery rooms. Just because the mountain men used my people's blood as medicine, doesn't mean they never received any broken bones or something else that couldn't be fixed with blood. Granted, most of the injured were probably those that had been _hunting_ my people...so my sympathy is not very high. However, I am glad for the privacy. I've never been naked in front of so many non-sexual partners before and I don't care for it.

When Jackson finally finishes me off, I'm tingling all over. A pleasant warmth not entirely created by the paste has seeped into my skin and muscles, making me feel whole and alive. He smiles kindly at me again and then proceeds to help me into some thin white clothing so that I'm not entirely exposed to the world anymore. After Jackson performs some additional tests on me, he gives me the all clear and says I'll be good as new in no time. Then he covers me with a blanket and tells me he will be back to cut off my soggy cast and make me a new one. Except I can't sit still. The thermal paste and rub down has energized me too much for that. I feel a little hot, a little horny, almost like I'm burning up now. I throw off the blanket and swing my legs over the side of the surgical bed.

My feet never make it to the floor before I hear the door open again. I'm only slightly surprised to find Clarke parting the curtain. She's dressed in the same clothing as me and judging by how alert she is, I can only assume that she underwent the same invigorating 'procedure'. She smiles when she sees me and I smile back.

"I'm glad you're okay," we pretty much say in unison, which just makes the smiles widen.

I feel even hotter now that Clarke is in close proximity and I can only pray I don't get yet another boner in her presence. Why can't I ever be wearing proper pants with a long coat?

Just in case, I cross my legs, an action that doesn't go unnoticed by Clarke. She steps in closer and places her warm, pulsing hands to my face. I can't stop myself from leaning into her soothing touch, close my eyes in satisfaction.

"I was so worried," she whispers, "so afraid that..."

I chance a look at her and see tears are brimming, magnifying the blues of her beautiful eyes. I place my hand over top one of hers and without thinking bring my lips to her wrist. Her breath hitches slightly at the contact. "I'm fine, Clarke, thanks to you." _You saved my life again_.

I don't say the words though it seems like she's followed my train of thought all the way back to the pauna anyway where the beginning of our relationship started in earnest. We fondly referred to it as our first date, something everyone else thought we were crazy for.

She hugs me and I hug her awkwardly back and the parts of our bodies in contact through the thin material feel so good I practically moan. I squeeze my thighs tightly together until she releases me.

We're much too close staring at each other with such intensity that it's like the heat imbibed into our flesh is now being unleashed, setting the room ablaze. It's taking everything I have not to pull her into my lap and kiss her senseless. As much as I want her to leave, to reduce temptation, I also _never_ want her to leave. I want to stay in this torturous moment forever and simply feel her heat and drink in her appearance, and breathe in that indescribable scent that drives me mad with desire.

I'm desperately trying to be respectful of Clarke's wishes, to wait until she is ready for us. The fact that Clarke's pupils are blown wide open seems to indicate as much, seems to tell me that she is struggling just as much as me to restrain herself. I wonder if she even sees me right now or if she is imagining Lexa. I wonder if she even saw _me_ plummeting towards the ground, saw _me_ in the water, saw _me_ drowning. Though I more or less think of myself as Lexa, even _feel_ like it some times – especially when I'm around Clarke - I'm _not_ in fact her. I'm still my own person, with my own thoughts and feelings, and I don't want to be used like whoever it was she slept with yesterday. It's a little disheartening to know I'm not really the one Clarke wants, that I might never be the one she really wants.

Before I can stop her she presses up against me again, tighter than before and kisses me. Her lips aren't feathery light like the last time, but forceful, full of purpose and passion, and whatever I was just thinking doesn't seem to matter. My body takes over and reciprocates in equal measure. If I thought I was burning up before, I am an inferno now, sure to be consumed by the flames if I don't extinguish them right away. She moves her lips to my neck and I can't stifle the moan this time as they suckle the heated and sensitive skin. This noise seems to embolden her and she places a hand on my bare knee, tries to nudge my clenched legs apart.

Only then do I come back to myself. With great determination, I move it away and shakily say, "Clarke, you don't want to do this."

When that isn't quite enough to get her to stop, I place a hand to her shoulder and gently push.

She blinks in confusion at the rejection, hurt evident in her eyes. "Enos?" she says breathlessly.

"You're not ready yet, Clarke," I say, hating myself a bit, both because I can see that I'm hurting her, and myself in the process. It's so frustrating to be damned if you do and damned if you don't. I want to comfort her. I want her more than words can express, but not like this, not when she doesn't even know who _I_ am. I suppose there's some solace in the fact that she actually said _my_ name. "What you're feeling...it's just the survival high, just this paste they've put on us."

She takes a deep breath and nods, but not before staring at my lips. "I guess you're right."

I force down the shiver this one brief glance elicits, stamp down the own yearning of my body. She still looks a little hurt so I place a hand to her face and say, "I think you're stunning, Clarke," my lips twitch, "even when you look like a drowned rat."

That gains a slight smile from her.

"But I want you to be sure about this before it happens. I want you to have a clear head if and when you decide this is in fact something you want."

She nods again, steps back further. The air between us becomes less heated and I can breathe easier. As she turns away to leave through the partially parted curtain, I can see the wall going up, her own version of the commander mask morphing her features into stone. I tell myself it's better this way, that we need to focus on winning this war, not each other. My body doesn't quite agree, it's still itching to pull her back into my arms and make love to her. But Lexa is silent so I know I made the right choice...for now.

* * *

Seeing as I only had the one outfit with me and it's currently being dried, and I don't want to impose on anyone else, I have to don the mountain men clothing. The least ridiculous of the lot is the guards attire, so that is what I go with, even though I know whoever used to wear it was probably cruel to my people. For all I know, I could be wearing the spare clothing of the man who caused so much pain and suffering at Tondc. Clarke opts to go with a gray sweater and blue jeans that show off her figure better than her grounder attire did. I try not to stare as I enter the conference room to discuss the glider incident.

A number of people, Echo and Bellamy in particular, stare at me strangely as I make my way to the head of the table beside Clarke. She's back to barely acknowledging my presence and a different sort of tension exudes between us.

After I take my seat, I look to Raven and say, "I don't blame you for what happened Raven." I side eye Clarke for a split second. "Everyone makes mistakes. However, I wonder if you could possibly explain what you think went wrong."

She shrugs, sighs. "I really don't know."

"So you don't think you miscalculated in any aspect of your modified design?" I press, not unkindly.

"I mean, I _suppose_ I could have," she grumbles, looking faintly embarrassed.

"There is another possibility," says Indra, and everyone's attention turns to the standing grounder in the corner. She doesn't like being in the mountain and has been sleeping outdoors. She doesn't even want to touch anything in here unless she absolutely has to. I don't blame her. These monsters took her husband and turned him into a reaper that was never saved because of the deal _I_ made. And yet, she still stands by me, even when she doesn't have to, even when she has no real reason to. I will never find a more loyal General than her. I hope to never lose her.

"And what would that be?" asks Kane politely.

"Sabotage." That one word hangs heavy in the air around us.

Several people bristle at that at once. I raise a hand to silence them.

"Do you really think the queen has infiltrated our midsts?" says Abby, a little anxiously, looking towards her daughter and I. "Wouldn't she have just killed the commander outright if she had? Why resort to an unsure thing?"

"Nia doesn't want me dead," I say to the room at large, which garners a glance from Clarke. "She knew I was the commander even before we got to Polis. She always planned to lock me up and throw away the key. The queen would rather keep me breathing than risk a new commander rising to oppose her."

Clarke nods and says, "If she had an assassin here, she would've finished what she started. She's wanted the wanheda dead for a long time. There's no way I would still be alive if one of her warriors was in the mountain."

"So if it's not one of _her_ people," says Bellamy with a frown, "could it be one of _ours_?"

We look around the table at one another as if someone will suddenly confess.

Octavia speaks what is on everyone's mind. "Who here would want the commander dead?"

Clarke shifts slightly beside me. I don't for one second think she intentionally sabotaged the glider. Yes, she was helping with its construction, but I can't believe she's still playing me and only pretending to believe I am who I say I am. The only way she would have done this is if her mind has fractured beyond repair into two separate personalities, one hopeful towards me, the other hostile. If that's the case, she probably wouldn't even be aware of the other personality. And Clarke's normally so hot headed that no one else would have been able to tell the difference.

I don't, or rather, _can't_ believe this is what has happened, that my death destroyed her brilliant and caring mind. She's too strong for that. She _has_ to be.

Still, a few people from the camp look to Clarke, likely remembering her savagery towards me, and I'm finding it hard to breathe again. If they knew about the dagger incident, there'd be little doubt in their minds that Clarke was guilty, that she had only swooped in so fast to save me out of regret.

"No one tried to kill me," I say as confidently as I can. I look to Raven. "It was just a mechanical error."

She gives me the stink eye but doesn't object. Indra and a few others don't seem entirely convinced. There's no way to investigate this matter further. By now the evidence is at the bottom of the lake. Even if the water wasn't frigid, it's too far down to explore without special equipment or a boat.

Still looking at Raven I say, "Can you make me another glider?"

"I don't know if we have enough materials left over." She's thoughtful for a bit. "But...I _think_ I can modify one of the pre-existing ones to allow tandem flight." She glances at the end of my new cast peeking through my guard uniform. "That way you won't be responsible for steering."

Raven gives me a look as if to say she still thinks it was _my_ fault the glider didn't work properly and had nothing to do with _her_ making a mistake.

There really isn't anything else to discuss so I dismiss everyone. As predicted, Clarke hangs back, waiting to talk with me in private.

"Do you really believe that, Enos?" she asks, eyes searching my face like they did before when she (correctly) thought I was hiding something. "That it was a mechanical error?"

"Of course, Clarke," I say calmly, even though my insides are squirming unpleasantly. "What else _could_ it be?"

We stare at one another for a time and then she just nods and leaves, and I can finally breathe again.

* * *

 **Well at least in the show heda's back...I wanna give her a hug. And where the hell was Raven? I feel like that was the first ep she wasn't in and I didn't care for it. She better not be getting blown up next ep. Ugh.**


	13. Chapter 13

****I may or may not have cried a little while writing this chapter...****

* * *

Like I've done countless times before, I jolt upright in bed when the nightmares find my tired and unguarded mind. This was a particularly bad one too involving Lexa and whatever horrific things my imagination can come up with about her final moments. I don't know what Nia did to her specifically. I only know the gruesome result. I never got to see her body, and I don't know whether that's actually a blessing in disguise or whether it would have helped me say goodbye easier. Certainly just seeing her decapitated head hasn't helped me feel any better, but perhaps if Nia had been courteous enough to give me Lexa's whole body, relatively intact, had allowed me to burn the body, it might have. Expecting that kind of humanity from the ice bitch was foolish though. Even in my most crazed states of mind I'm more human and humane than she'll ever be. I've wanted to make her suffer as I have suffered for what feels like an eternity. I came close when I managed to stab Roan in the shoulder. The look of rage and fear in Nia's eyes was priceless and I reveled in her pain. Unfortunately, this distraction left me vulnerable to attack and Tyrell easily subdued me before I could finish the job.

It's a mistake I don't intend to make twice. Nothing besides death itself will prevent me from exacting my revenge this time. And it _is_ revenge. No matter what I try to tell myself otherwise, that it's actually about saving the polis citizens, or stopping a power hungry zealot, or any other number of reasons, I know I don't truly care. I just want Nia dead, plain and simple. I want the woman who killed the love of my life to take her last breath because of me. I want her to scream in agony before it happens. I want to destroy her body and soul to ensure she never reincarnates. And if she somehow does, I want to track her down and kill her over and over again until the end of my days. I know it's not logical, that I won't actually be able to do this, but I'm indulging in my fantasies for now. It's all I have left. That and my rage. Without these I am empty and hollow and forced to face my reality and that is not something I much feel like doing these days.

I look across the room to see that Raven is still fast asleep. If she hadn't been, I might have cuddled up beside her, as she's offered me on more than one occasion. Any kind of human contact is better than none. I wonder about the glider incident again. It would be unusual for Raven to make a mistake. She's normally so precise and accurate, so sure of herself. Then again, I know a lot of the time this bravado is simply a facade. I know this because I do the exact same thing. We all do. People won't follow or listen to you if they think you don't know what you're doing, if they think you're weak and afraid.

But the fact of the matter is, she _has_ made mistakes. She's only human. I don't blame her when she almost blew us up a couple months back. I'm just glad no one was killed. Her confidence took a hit that day and I hope the same thing doesn't hold true this time as well. I'm screwed up enough for the both of us. So far she seems like her usual cocky self. If Enos had been really hurt or died though...this would be a different story.

I sigh thinking about him. I don't really know what to feel where he is concerned. I can't deny there's some physical attraction there, but how much more I can't say. I do however know that I was much more concerned with preserving what remains of Lexa than I was with Enos himself when I jumped into that freezing lake water. If Enos dies, there's no guarantee that Lexa will come back in any tangible form. She'd just be an even more muted voice in the back of the next commanders head. It's so frustrating to have her right there but not be able to communicate with her one on one whenever I want. Then again, it might drive me even more insane if I could. And it wouldn't be fair in the least to Enos. Perhaps it's better this way. Knowing she's watching over me in some capacity is comforting, as is Enos' presence.

Case in point, I was actually able to sleep undisturbed for more than a few hours when he was next to me. The only other person who had that 'magical' power was Lexa. And the times I did have issues, she was always already awake and ready to soothe me back to sleep with a song. Either that or make love to me. I miss her soft voice and touch more than words can express. I don't doubt I will yearn for them every day until my torturous fight is finally over. In the meantime, I have to find a way to keep going. I have to stay strong like Lexa wanted me to. But it's difficult when the memories keep coming back to me, when the things that almost were, will never be.

 _The sun is shining merrily down on us on a pleasant summers day. I'm running away from Lexa as I splash around in the shallow part of this isolated lake she took me to, one I'm assured house no carnivorous snake monsters. It's not too far from Polis, so if the commander is suddenly needed, she can get back within a couple of hours, faster if she pushes her horse and gallops. I'm hoping that doesn't happen though. She's been so stressed lately, so dragged down by her responsibilities. She needs this relief, we both do, if only for a little while._

 _Lexa is quickly gaining on me, and I turn around at the last second and splash her full in the face. She looks pissed in a fake way and then proceeds to grab me in a bear hug and lift me off of the mucky floor slightly. We're dressed in little more than our underthings, so I can feel every bit of her toned body molded against mine. I'm laughing uncontrollably and flailing my legs when she butterfly kisses me everywhere on my face except for my lips. This she finally does and for a moment I'm silent and in heaven, and then Lexa grins and flings me sideways into a deeper part of the lake. When I come up for air, sputtering, no doubt looking like a drowned rat, she bites her lip as if trying to keep her own laughter in._

 _To distract her while I move in closer, I splash in her general direction, and then lunge. I'm sure she could have easily side stepped me and let me crash under the water by myself, but instead she lets me tackle her and we both go down, just skimming the muddy ground. We surface a few moments later, Lexa joining me in laughter, and I revel in the sound of such foreign music. She's only free to be like this with me, so I do my best to bring her light, playful side out as much as possible. It's usually somewhat of a struggle, but today she's all smiles and fun._

 _We run and swim around the lake for hours, chasing, playing, laughing, until we're too tired to keep going. Then we spread out towels on the pebbly shoreline and lay down. It's surprisingly comfortable. I still haven't experienced sand, whether in the dead zone, or on the coast, and I hope to do that with Lexa one day when her responsibilities allow._ _If_ _they ever do._

 _It's not long before we're touching and kissing and removing what little clothing we have left to us. Lexa holds me close after our latest bout of love making and sighs contentedly into my ear. I kiss her clavicle in response. We don't need to speak to express what we're feeling or how much we mean to one another. It's written into every glance, every touch, every secret smile._

 _I'm not sure exactly what compels me to bring it up, but it's out of my mouth before I can take the words back. "Do you ever think about having children, Lexa?"_

 _Her arms stiffen around me and she doesn't respond. I feel like an idiot and try to back peddle._

 _"Nevermind, it was a dumb question. Forget I said anything."_

 _She pulls back enough to look at me, places a hand to my face. "It wasn't a dumb question. And to answer it...yes, I've thought about having children. There are so many orphaned from my battles," she says sadly. "It's only natural I would want to take some of them under my wing and guide them like I do the future leaders of the clans."_

 _"Yeah, you were really good with them. I enjoyed watching you play warrior. You looked happy."_

 _Lexa gives me a slightly peeved look. "We weren't 'playing warrior', Clarke. I was training them. As every commander before has."_

 _"Well, whatever you want to call it, it was cute." I close my eyes and nuzzle her nose with mine. "I think you'd make a great mother, Lexa."_

 _I can hear her swallow thickly. She strokes my face gently and I open my eyes. Hers are a little watery and full of light and longing. We stare at one another for a time before she finally whispers, "I think you would make a great mother too, Clarke."_

 _I smile and kiss her softly once and then sink back more fully into her embrace. There's no point in discussing if we might one day adopt a child. We both know the immediate future is far too uncertain for that._

All in all it was a perfect day...the last one we ever had before everything went to shit. I turn on my side and cry myself back to sleep.

* * *

While Raven gets back to work making a tandem glider for Enos and someone else, our little army holds an informal meeting over breakfast to decide _who_ that someone else should be. Everyone's here except for Indra and Jasper. Jasper still can't stomach coming in the mess hall and I don't blame him. If I had found Lexa in a similar state not ten feet away from my current position, I would be no better. It's hard enough for me to come in here as it is.

"It should be Indra," says Bellamy matter-of-factly. "She's as good as his bodyguard."

"Indra is just as likely to crash it as him," I say, not entirely unkindly. I glance at Enos apologetically, knowing it wasn't really his fault. "She's not very comfortable with the gliders either...or close contact with other people."

That garners a few smirks.

"Okay, then Echo here would be great," says Bellamy, squeezing her hand fondly. "She's fearless _and_ they're cousins. So it wouldn't be awkward."

It should be weird that we're discussing him like he's not even there, but when he didn't immediately pick a partner, Bellamy jumped right in.

Echo slaps him lightly. "Speak for yourself." She looks at Enos. "My cousin finds my chatter to be tedious."

When Enos doesn't deny this, she gives him a glare.

"Octavia's fairly silent," says Echo looking to the too quiet girl. "She's taken after her mentor."

"No offense, Enos," says Octavia gruffly, side- eying the commander, "but I don't really want to fly with you for two hours."

"None taken," he replies.

"What about Monty?" suggests Bellamy. "You don't have any problems with the commander, do you, Monty?"

The young man looks put on the spot and not really sure what to say. I clench my jaw when he looks at Enos somewhat appraisingly. "Well, I guess I cou-"

"Monty doesn't want to do it either," I say quickly, like an idiot, making everyone turn their heads towards me. It's just that I know Enos is still attracted to men and Monty is the sweetest person I have ever met (besides Lexa) and if they are allowed to bond for that length of time, there's no telling what will become of that interaction.

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at my outburst. "I think we just found our volunteer," he says with a smirk and I have to wonder if they've all been playing me from the start. I don't know how much Octavia has told them about the strange circumstances surrounding the commander and I. And if she has blabbed, it's rather mean of them to try and push us together like this. But then again, _they_ didn't really. _I_ didn't have to say anything.

"What?" I say looking towards Enos who is holding my gaze. "It's up to you."

His eyes don't say it but I can still tell he's thinking it. _No, Clarke, it's up to you._

"I'll do it," I say stifling the sigh that's threatening to break free. I brought this upon myself.

It can't be that bad spending two hours strapped together with the person housing the last remnants of my dead lover, can it?

* * *

We spend a large portion of the ensuing day just getting used to the gliders, making sure we're comfortable with them. I realize a tandem glider will require further practice, but for now, this single one will have to do. The longer we are out there, the more daring we get and there are a few close calls, but thankfully no one is injured this day either, and no more gliders are destroyed.

I'm somewhat stiff and sore after being in that single position for so many hours. My neck in particular is hurting. Rolling it around isn't helping much but I can't seem to soothe the exact spot that's causing me issues with my own hands. The kink in my neck is forgotten when I see an unexpected, yet oh so familiar sight.

Enos is playing with a few kids in the snow, or rather, they are attacking him with flimsily thrown snowballs and he is letting them, pretending to be hurt by their blows. One of them gets him in the face and he falls down, dead. The culprit pokes at him with his tiny foot. They giggle and screech uncontrollably when he jumps up and chases after. He scoops one little blonde haired girl into his arms and then onto his shoulder. She starts bopping him on the head and he makes a grumpy face. I can't help the laugh that gurgles up into the space between us.

Immediately he turns his head and his gentle green eyes find mine. My throat constricts and I feel as though there's no air even though we're outside. This is too much for me to handle right now and my eyes sting as I turn away and try to keep my composure somehow.

A little while later when I'm in bed again, there's a knock on the door. I don't feel like getting up to answer it. It pushes open without my consent. I must have forgotten to lock it. I feel the bed shift as someone sits down beside me. Of course I know who it is already. I seem to be able to sense his presence the same way I could with Lexa. Maybe I catch a whiff of something familiar, I'm not sure.

"Are you okay, Clarke?"

The absurdity of the question causes me to release a strangled sound, one mixed with despair and a morbid humour. "Yeah, I'm just peachy, Enos," I snap sarcastically. "That's why I'm curled up in my bed crying into my dead lover's pillow."

He allows a beat of time to pass, to let the bitterness sweep away. "If there's anything you wish to talk about, I'm here for you."

Irritated, I flop around to face him. "Okay, let's talk about how you're an asshole." He raises an eyebrow in confusion, so I elaborate. "You can't keep doing those things."

"What things, Clarke?"

I huff in frustration. "The things that Lexa used to do!" I exclaim, lip trembling. The tears start to flow again. I hit him in the leg, not hard. "How am I supposed to get passed this if you keep reminding me of her?!"

"Time heals all wounds," he eventually says.

I groan, roll my eyes and turn away. "Thanks, Enos, that was really helpful. You can go now."

But he doesn't go like I asked, he just keeps sitting there, doing nothing, saying nothing.

When I'm about to snap at him again he says, "Do you have any questions for Lexa? Anything you never got to ask before she died? Anything you want clarified? Perhaps if I give you the answers, that will help you say goodbye."

I debate whether or not to open that can of worms. It might just make me even sadder. Or it might give me peace of mind like Enos thinks. Besides, how many people get this kind of opportunity? Not very many I'd imagine and even fewer would have spoken to the deceased through a medium. My curiousity gets the best of me and I turn back around to face him.

"You'll be completely truthful with me, no matter what?"

He nods, a slight smile touching his lips. "She can't hide anything from me."

I prop myself up with Lexa's pillow, suddenly eager. A million questions run through my brain at once. My heart is pumping wildly when I blurt out the first ones. "Did she think Raven was hot?! Did she ever check her out?!"

Enos seems taken aback at first by the volume but then he just smirks and says, "Yes, she did."

I smack him on the arm this time. "I knew it!" I say with a giddy chuckle. "Lexa you little liar!"

"What did she _really_ think about my cooking skills?" I ask next, scooting a little closer to my no holds barred informant.

"She thought they were atrocious." Before I can get indignant he adds, "But she loved whatever you made, because _you_ made it for her."

That gets a soft smile out of me. Then I grin a little evilly. "My drawings of her as raccoons, she loved those too, didn't she? Even though she pretended not to?"

He smirks. "Her favourite was the one of you as a lion attacking her."

I remember that one like it was yesterday. Lexa started calling me her little lion heart (in trigedasleng) after she learned what a lion was. It made me feel a little guilty comparing her to a raccoon just because of her war paint, but not guilty enough to stop.

Our thighs are touching when I say, "When I joined the coalition...was it really necessary for me to get all dressed up in grounder gear? Or did she just want to see me like that? And did she ever wear that _bare_ backed black dress to any other swearing ins?"

My stomach flips pleasantly, recalling my first glimpses of her back tattoos. It wasn't long after that that I became far more familiar with them, as well every inch of her skin.

"No, yes, and no. Even then, it was never just political with you." He holds my gaze as he adds, "But I think you already knew that."

I glance away, "Yeah, I did." I look back. "She knows I never actually hated her right?"

"She knew most of the rage was caused by self hatred that you weren't ready to face yet," he says with a dip of the head.

I'm silent for a little while. I bite my lip. "Did...how badly did I hurt her when I told her I was working with Nia to destroy the coalition?"

He hesitates a moment. "She was devastated, Clarke. Mostly because she was afraid she had lost your love forever."

I chuckle in a sad way, slumping forward. "And now I don't think I can ever stop loving her. Ironic, huh?"

Enos wraps an arm around my shoulder and I allow myself to be pulled against his chest. We stay like that for some time, all the while I'm steeling myself for asking the question that's been driving me crazy.

"How did Lexa die?" I whisper.

Enos doesn't reply and I pull back to give him a stern glare, gripping his knee. "You promised to tell the truth. No matter what."

He runs a hand over his tired looking face, the stubble back again. My savagery is more or less absent by now, and I've come to see that he is pretty handsome. Attractiveness is apparently a requirement for the commander.

"Are you sure you want to know?" he says.

"Yes," I say, and the word barely makes it out. I move back into his one armed embrace, sure I'm going to need some kind of anchor for the ensuing storm.

Enos sighs. In a monotone voice he says, "After the queen's warriors took turns cutting...and burning her in the traditional Trikru way..."

I grip him tight, tears again forcing themselves to the surface.

"...they tied her limbs to four separate horses...and slowly ripped her apart."

That's even worse than I imagined. The agony Lexa must have endured... it's too much, I can't fathom. I don't bother trying to stifle the heartwrenching sobs that are doing their damnedest to rip _me_ apart as well. Enos holds me as best he can while I pour out my soul for the umpteenth time. This one feels like it could be the end for me. I shouldn't have asked. I should have let it lie. And now the damage is done.

When my weeping finally subsides to a more manageable level, Enos surprises me and says, "That arrow that hit Ryder when you were out hunting...Lexa did that by accident when you bent over to check out the three headed lizard."

My frazzled brain takes a moment to register this comment and then I burst out into hiccuping laughter. "Really? _That's_ why he got shot in the ass? Because of _my_ ass?"

"Yes," he says with a wide grin.

I smile sadly. The ache in my chest lessens slightly. Maybe I'll be okay after all. "What else don't I know?"

* * *

 **Nothing like a depressing Clexa fic as a Monday pick me up. Am I right? No? Okay, I'll go then and eat away my feelings.**

 **If you could ask Lexa one question, what would it be?**

 **Thanks tumblr for the lion/raccoon drawings. They wouldn't be here without you.  
**

 **Anyway, super stoked for the next ep cuz it's apparently all about Lexa!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Can't compute that last ep. Error! Error!**

* * *

Turns out tandem gliding with Enos is only awkward for the first few minutes. By then I've become accustomed to his presence to the side and slightly above, and we fall into a kind of easy, comfortable silence as we soar above the treetops together. Doubtless some of the closeness I feel is due to our lengthy conversation yesterday, in which I feel like I learned everything there was to know about Lexa, or at least, re-learned it in a new light. No matter how well you think you know someone, you never really do because you can't get inside their head. And to some extent, that's probably a good thing. I didn't always like what I discovered. But with very few exceptions, I'm glad for what I now know.

The question I've been asking myself today is, 'should I attempt to do the same with Enos?' I only know one half of the equation inside and out. Shouldn't I know the full thing? Of course, whatever I ask, he could easily lie to me. But I don't think he would. I'm almost positive he didn't lie about anything regarding Lexa, and not all of her past was exactly the stuff of angels. There are no good guys on Earth. Even Monty has blood on his hands.

But Enos is Ice Nation, and up until a few weeks ago, he was training to be part of the queen's personal guard. How much of that blood is my people's? How much of it is from fallen friends? I suppose if I decide to ask him about himself, we won't start with the heavier side of things. I'm still pretty emotionally drained from yesterday.

Raven's out here too and we're flying around each other, having a grand time, just enjoying ourselves in ways that are mostly foreign to us now. There's a strong glare from the sun today, so she's got a pair of sunglasses on. None of us actually need glasses or other visual aids because we've been engineered to have perfect eyesight. I'm not sure where in the mountain Raven found such an archaic instrument, but they suit her. She looks cool and even more badass than usual. I'm actually a little envious I don't have my own pair.

Thankfully - or unfortunately, depending on your viewpoint - the sun's glare won't be an issue when we make our way to Polis tomorrow night. I have yet to try a night fly. I've been assured by others that it's not that big a deal since we have night vision/heat goggles to help us see. Still, until I've tried it for myself, I'm going to be a bit anxious about it.

As if sensing my disquiet, Enos squeezes my shoulder, bringing me back to the present. He smiles, and I smile back, and for the moment, I am brought back to a state of contentedness and tranquility.

* * *

I've been more or less keeping my distance from my mother and she's been more or less respecting that, but tonight she comes to see me in my room. And tonight I am a lost little girl again in need of comforting. In rapid fire I tell her all the things that can only be said to one's mother and she listens intently, never interrupting.

"Does this ache...this yearning ever go away?" I ask quietly afterwards, as she holds me, stroking my hair absentmindedly. Losing my father was hard enough, but Lexa is an entirely different level of pain, one that has threatened to rip me to shreds numerous times, not unlike a blood thirsty pauna. I feel like I gave my soul to her, and without it, I struggle to find myself day in and day out.

She sighs. "Not really, no. At least not in my experience."

"But does it get easier to bear?"

She kisses my forehead. "Yes, baby, with time it gets easier."

"That's what Enos said," I mutter, snuggling into her warmth further.

"I can't even begin to imagine how strange this must be for you, and I'm so sorry you have to go through this on top of everything else you're dealing with. If your father ever..."

I squeeze her in understanding. "It's not so bad, mom. I hated it at first, but now...now I think I might actually like him a bit, and not just because of Lexa."

She contemplates this for awhile, the gentle rise and fall of her chest lulling me to sleep. "Please don't rush into anything, Clarke. You've only begun to let yourself grieve."

"Don't worry, mom, I don't plan on starting anything with him any time soon. If at all."

I leave out the parts where we kissed and when I practically forced myself on him. I'm still ashamed of that.

She kisses the top of my head and murmurs, "Try to get some sleep now, honey. You've got a big day ahead of you."

Neither of us mention that it might be my last.

* * *

We go over the plan for the umpteenth time in the morning. I know plans don't last very long in battle, but even so I'd rather have everyone's roles clear and easily recalled when the pressure is on and everything could go to shit in an instant if one part of the whole doesn't function to full capacity. I've been there, done that. It's nearly time to end this once and for all. Failure is not an option.

* * *

Around midnight, the nine of us huddle together like a football team of old, psyching ourselves up for this massive undertaking. We're standing just inside the top mountain's entrance, all of our gliders, weapons and supplies are lining the dirty black walls. The circle is somewhat larger than it should be because we're all dressed to look the parts in the warm, but bulky outfits of the Ice Nation. When Enos showed up with his white swirling war paint on, I flashed back to our first altercation and nearly attacked him all over again. On top of the war paint, we're also wearing partial masks to further disguise our identities. Though I'm wearing a hood, I have even gone so far as to dye my hair brown with a leftover from the mountain - no berries for me this time. The shade reminds me of Lexa's lovely hair, but I don't dwell on that.

"Okay, everyone," I say, "this is it. We've planned this mission meticulously. We know what we have to do. I have complete faith in all of you to see this thing through successfully. So let's go get Polis back."

"The Ice dynasty will fall tonight," intones Enos.

"For everyone who has fallen at its hands," says Indra.

"For Lincoln," says Octavia gruffly, eyes hard as steel.

"To those we've lost," I say, looking in Enos' direction.

"And those we'll soon find," he replies without hesitation, as if anticipating me. One can only hope that a betrayal is not just around the corner.

"Let's kick some Ice Nation ass!" yells Jasper. Everyone stares at him and it takes a second before he realizes he ruined the somber mood.

Then Raven shrugs and adds, "Hell yeah! Let's take those motherfuckers down!"

There are some war cries in response and then blood pumping faster, we break apart and take to the dark and somewhat cloudy skies. I've only jumped off the top of the mountain once, and never at night time, so I'm a little freaked out to do it.

As usual, Enos places a calming hand on my arm and says, "You have nothing to fear."

Our ragtag group has been waiting for me to go first. I take a deep breath, slip on the night vision goggles and, with a nod to Enos, we leap together off the mountain. With no sun, it's colder than I'm accustomed to, especially from this height, and so I'm pretty thankful for warmer than usual clothes and the full face and head coverage. The weight of the weapons on my back is comforting. With one or all of them, I'll finally get my revenge.

For an hour and a half there's smooth sailing, and nothing interrupts my inner mantra of 'ding dong the bitch is dead, the wicked bitch is dead!' But then we come across some turbulence and looking up I see we might be heading into a storm. We start to buffet back and forth and it's difficult to maintain control. For nearly ten minutes I hold my breath, praying with all my might that we can stay the course. If a single one of us gets blown away or knocked down altogether, the mission has already failed.

Finally we're through it and I look behind me to reassure myself that everyone's still present. I freak for a second when I don't spot Raven, but then Enos taps my shoulder and points upwards, and with the thermal setting on, I can see that she's soaring _above_ me.

Polis begins to loom ahead, the faintest of torchlights piercing the dark. It vaguely reminds me of Lexa and her army encamped outside of what was once Camp Jaha. It's a bit unsettling, and for obvious reasons, I don't like to dwell on that night.

I can see orange and red hued archers patrolling the wall. They too appear as dots, as ants, just waiting to be squashed. We're counting on the darkness and our height to hide our approach. Or if they do spot us, we're counting on them thinking we're nothing but hawks out for a midnight snack. Once again, if a single one of them starts firing, this mission has already failed.

I release my pent up breath when we pass overhead of the archers of this section of wall without incident. Our descent now begins. I'm aiming for the main square, which is the nearest open landing space to the crumbling snow covered mansion. Indra follows, but the rest go off in different directions. Bellamy, Raven and Monty are off to secure the surviving Polis citizens. Echo, Jasper and Octavia have their own very important task to accomplish.

I'm nearing the ground when I notice figures moving through the area we're supposed to land in. There aren't many, only three, but we don't want to alert anyone to our presence just yet. I end up having to land on top of a building with a huge hole in the roof. In my attempt to avoid that, I nearly slide off the edge. Only Enos' added weight helps to hold us back. Some snow drops down and lands just behind the people passing by. My heart is pounding and I'm sweating when we step back and unlatch ourselves from our harnesses. I wanted to avoid this kind of landing because it was dangerous and didn't afford much room for error. The good thing about this slight deviation is now we don't have to worry about our gliders being discovered.

It's a bit of a struggle to get down from here, but eventually we find a semi-safe path. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Indra doing the same thing from the building she made her emergency landing on. I scout the area with my night and heat vision, and seeing no one else in the immediate vicinity, I signal to Indra and we meet up in the middle of the square. Out of the three of us, I am the only one wearing the goggles. Enos had no need because of me, and Indra flat out refused to use mountain man technology. 'A true warrior doesn't have need of such things,' she had said.

For now I'm going to keep them on. We still have plenty of distance to cover before we reach the mansion and the person both Lexa and I have wanted dead for a very long time. We draw our weapons as we move forward. I'm sporting the tranquilizer rifle after all. Enos has a rubber bullet gun in hand. Indra is duel wielding daggers. The object is to get from here to there without alerting anyone to our presence, so making noise, or leaving a trail of snow covered blood in our wake, isn't an option. Therefore Indra has been ordered to only attack with steel if absolutely necessary. Even once we get there, we still want to be as stealthy as possible. There will be a number of guards to take out before we actually get to the targets.

Unsurprisingly, after our last failed venture, Nia has ordered far more night patrols. While we could attempt to simply walk passed them and hope they don't realize anything is amiss, that would require me to dispose of my tranq gun and goggles, neither of which I want to part with yet as it gives us a leg up for scouting out the mansion later on.

We deal with the first of these with relative ease - thanks to the large heads up from my superhero like ability to see through walls - and drag the bodies into an alleyway. We cover them with snow for good measure. Two more patrols are swiftly dealt with before the ascent up the slight hill to the mansion. No blood has been shed yet, but it's only a matter of time. We stop near the top, just before becoming visible to the guards stationed out front. They shift from foot to foot, flexing hands, trying to stay warm. At least the other patrols got to move around. These poor idiots don't even get that luxury and it's around fifteen below zero.

These two will be trickier to take down. I could just tranq both of them but the sound their bodies makes might alert the warriors I can see just inside. I nod to Enos and Indra to deal with this in a more hands on way. I will cover them just in case something goes awry. They both put their weapons away and then step right up to the guards. Enos appears to be missing a hand because of his sleeve covered cast, which can only be helpful in adding another layer to his disguise.

They have a brief conversation in Trigedasleng and then the warriors start to leave, apparently thinking they've been relieved of duty. As soon as their backs are turned however, Indra and Enos grab them from behind. Indra snaps her targets neck while Enos stabs his with a dagger. There's no point moving the bodies now. There's blood staining the snow now. Besides, the front door always has guards stationed. Their absence would be as sure of an alarm as their sprawled bodies.

I come out of the shadows and into the torchlight beside them. I hold up four gloved fingers to indicate the number of guards stationed behind these doors. I then proceed to explain what I think we should do using a few hand gestures. They nod in agreement and once again, Indra and Enos take the lead as they pull the heavy wooden doors apart.

The four guards further down the hall turn their heads at our intrusion. One of them asks what we're doing in here. Enos complains about the cold and one of the men moves closer to tell him off. As the guard approaches, I step off to the side of Indra and tranq two of the others in quick succession. Enos stabs his man and the fourth one nearly blows his horn before Indra tosses a dagger into him. My damn rifle had jammed just when I needed it the most. I fiddle with it for a bit but can't get the damn thing to respond properly. The only thing I manage to do is eject the previously loaded dart. Indra glares at me and with a faint sigh, I put the rifle down, but not before pocketing the fallen dart. Even like this it came in handy where Anya was concerned. Who knows if the same won't hold true here?

At least my heat vision is still working properly and we efficiently make our way through the mansion, dispatching of more guards (with steel now) before they even know we're there. We're almost at the queen's sleeping quarters and my heart begins its frantic beat again. I force myself to remain calm and level headed. We stop just around the corner of both the Queen's and Roan's quarters. For psychopaths, they are oddly co-dependent and one is usually not far from the other. But perhaps that's just because Nia is afraid Roan will impale himself with his own sword if he isn't under constant supervision. I bite my tongue to stop myself from snorting.

I can see there's another four guards here. Two outside of each of their rooms. One of which is the very same one I threatened Lexa's life in forever ago. I stomp down the unpleasant memory before it can take root and distract me. If we make any noise here whatsoever, one or both of the psychos will undoubtedly hear and cause problems. However, with no tranquilizer weapon to aid us, this is impossible. Our only option is to dispatch them quickly and hope to get to Nia and Roan before they can arm themselves.

Bloodied daggers and/or swords at the ready, we nod to each other and dash around the corner. Immediately we're spotted and the guards prepare their spears accordingly. Indra throws a dagger at a large warrior and he crumples. In retaliation, one of them throws a spear at me, I slide low out of the way and pop back up to slash at his torso. I slice his throat before the scream comes out. With his sword, Enos blocks a blow intended for my back and I spin around to slash my would be killer dead. Indra makes short work of the final guard and we turn to burst into the rooms, Indra into Roan's room and Enos and I into the Queen's, or should I say Lexa's. It's only as we're doing this that I can see there are two figures in this room, both of which are scrambling for the nearest weapon with which to defend themselves with.

Enos throws his sword at the bigger figure, who is half turned away, reaching for something. The man dodges somehow, as if he has spiderman senses. Much closer now, Enos lunges at the man, who I now realize is Tyrell and knocks him into the ornate cabinet, nearly smashing his mentor through the wood. They begin close quarters hand to hand combat on one side of the bed. With only one hand, Enos is losing. I can't help him unfortunately because the queen has armed herself while I was distracted and is coming at me. The blade slices right by my head and cuts so close it shears through my hood, exposing some of my brown hair and catches me ever so slightly in the shoulder, drawing blood. My body throbs with a combination of fear, excitement and pain. I fend off the next savage blow by crossing my swords in an x formation. Nia is deceptively strong for her age and even with two weapons, my arms jar from the single strike.

She smirks and stands still, waiting for me to make a move. Her hair is down and she's wearing the least amount of clothing I've ever seen her in, but she doesn't seem perturbed by her lack of armour.

"Mema in disha, Wanheda?" she says silkily, turning the blade in her hand so that I can get a better view with my night vision goggles.

It's then that I realize the sword she is holding is Lexa's, the same one that led thousands of warriors into battle, the same one that taught the children how to fight, the same one that taught me how to duel wield, the same one that Nia took from her after she tortuously killed her.

My blood boils and every fiber of my being tells me to lunge at her in fury, but a small voice in the back of my head tells me to stay put, and somehow I manage to keep myself in check. Nia seems disappointed when I don't take the bait.

The two men are still exchanging heavy handed blows, knocking into everything on that side of the room, and more often than not, Enos takes a hit. His energy is clearly waning and it's only a matter of time before Tyrell wins. I wonder where Indra is, what could possibly be taking her so long. She should have made short work of Roan. That gives me an idea. Fight fire with fire.

"Teik oso odon disha, natrona," I say, twirling my swords once. "Jos laik yu nomonjoka yongon."

Her nostrils flare at my disrespect and the implication that her son is already dead (as well as sleeping with her). She starts coming at me fast and furious, pushing me towards the only door to this room. I suppose she wants to check up on Roan. It's all I can do to fend off her blows. I trip backwards over one of the dead guards and Nia takes the opportunity to drive Lexa's sword point straight down on me. I roll away at the last second and she impales the dead woman instead with a loud squelching noise.

I slip on the pool of blood as I try to right myself quickly, and ironically, it's because of this mishap that Nia again misses me. I hear someone getting tossed across the room but I can't see who from this vantage point. Upright again, we duel for a few moments, every blow sending spasms up my arm and into my wounded shoulder. We're fairly evenly matched until Nia slices my hand and I inadvertently drop one of my swords. She pushes me back further and picks up the fallen weapon, twirling them like I had done, mocking me. How the fuck we ever expected to best them when they were awake, I don't know. But I wasn't really thinking much when I agreed to be Enos' prisoner.

It only takes her three passes before she's completely disarmed me. Now I'm pretty much screwed. Nia smiles at me in a self satisfied sort of way and backs me into the wall at the end of the corridor. I can feel the fear taking hold as my mind fumbles with what to do.

"I wish I could take my time with you," she says when I have nowhere else to go. "Be thankful your end will be swift." Her eyes bore into mine, full of malice and hate. "Unlike your pathetic girlfriend." She laughs humourlessly. "And _hers_ as well."

My hands ball into fists at my sides, and then I feel the slight bulge in my pocket and remember my little keepsake from the rifle. I rip off my goggles and throw them at her. As she deflects that projectile, I lunge at her and ram the dart into her thigh. With only her nightclothes on, there is no armour to protect her from the effects of the tranquilizer. She slashes at me but I dodge her clumsy attack and then she stumbles into the wall.

"Poison?" she growls as she drops to the ground.

"Worse," I tell her right before she passes out, swords clattering.

 _Nightie night, bitch._

I snatch up Lexa's sword and sprint back the way I came, feeling like a part of her now courses through my veins, my very soul, giving me new strength...and hope.

* * *

 **This chap reminds me of Tom Clancy games...it's like I've played splinter cell before.**

 **Who doesn't want to picture Nia in her nightclothes? At least I didn't make her naked. Naked sword fighting! Lol**

 **The 'sleng isn't the greatest fit but their lines roughly translate to, 'Remember this, Wanheda?' - I wanted it to say recognize but there was no word for that.  
**

 **Clarke says something like, "Let us finish this, traitor. Just like your motherfucking son."**

 **FYI, I wrote about Raven's sunglasses before I saw 303. (Kane picks up a pair in the market)**


	15. Chapter 15

We weren't expecting Tyrell to be here. I knew they were occasional lovers, but their bedroom meetings were so few and far between, we weren't anticipating it. I see Tyrell going for a dagger on the nightstand so I throw my sword at him. I'm not surprised when he evades the attack. I've always known he had heightened reflexes. That's what makes him such a good martial arts instructor, why the queen deems him worthy enough to share her bed. I throw myself at him to prevent him from picking the sword up, and we begin to grapple in tight quarters. I'm finding it difficult to get the upper hand, get _any_ hand really, as I lack the use of one. Even if I had both hands intact, I'm not sure I could take him. He's much bigger and stronger than me and knows every move I will make before I make it, because _he_ taught them to me.

Still, I try my best to block, or dodge altogether, weaving in and out of his blows, trying not to get cornered or slammed into anything pointy. Clarke is facing off against the queen, and she will likely need my help. They taunt one another and then the queen forces Clarke out of the room and out of sight. I hear her stumble over one of the bodies and my stomach lurches when the unmistakable sound of flesh is pierced. My distraction is rewarded with a shoulder toss over the bed and to the other side of the room. I land hard and the air is knocked out of me. My head also hits the ground so I'm dazed. Tyrell comes around, still unarmed. I suppose he wants to finish me off the old fashioned way for daring to threaten his precious queen's life.

" _Get up_!" commands Lexa as I continue to lay there, winded and confused.

I try to do as she says but I'm so woozy, I don't make it very far and flop back down.

" _Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim!"_ she says, intoning the words of her... _our_ people.

Again I try, again I fail. Tyrell is almost standing over me. Soon he will start beating me to a pulp like Clarke did.

 _"Clarke needs you, you branwada! GET UP!"_

Tyrell lifts me up by my collar and cocks a fist. Instinctively, I raise my arm to block it, my _cast_ arm. Tyrell's heavy handed punch rebounds with a crack. I'm not sure whether it's some bones in his hand or the cast itself. Perhaps it's both. His eyes go wide in pain but he doesn't make a sound. He does however stand up and back, and when he does so I scissor kick his legs out from under him. He lands on his side hard. Finally I surge to my feet, like I've been scalded. My skull blinds me with pain and I nearly vomit and pass out. Instead I push those sensations down and pounce on top of Tyrell, smacking his head over and over again with my cast until he stops moving. Blood coats my sleeve and broken cast. I check his pulse to confirm that he is indeed dead. I can't believe how dumb I was not to just use this as a weapon in the first place. Who cares if I break my hand again when Clarke's life is on the line? Speaking of...

I hop to my feet again and rush into the hallway and nearly collide with her. I end up catching her, spinning around and pinning her to the wall. Our eyes lock and we breathe each other in for a moment. I place a bruised and bloodied hand to her face. I'm so relieved that she's alive that the urge to take off my mask and kiss her is strong. Rather than give into weakness, I pull back. I can see she's bleeding a bit from her hand and shoulder. Thankfully nowhere else more fatal. She's holding my sword and I realize that the edge is most likely bloodied with her own blood. A wave of anger washes over me and if Nia had been there in that instant, I would have drowned her in _her_ own blood.

"Tyrell?" she asks, slightly breathlessly. Whether from exertion or something else, I can't say.

"Dead," I reply equally breathlessly. "Nia?"

"Unconscious. Indra?"

"I don't know," I say. I scoop up one of the dead soldiers spears and take a look in Roan's room. Clarke joins me a moment later. A few things have been tossed on the floor but it's otherwise undisturbed and empty.

"Where do you think they are?" she asks me with a frown. I shake my head, then notice two sets of bloody footprints leading around the corner. Weapons raised, we go to investigate, and around the next bend we find a pile of bodies. Blood has pooled around all of them a great deal. None of them are Indra or Roan. However, a foot is peeking out of one of the rooms in this hallway. We run over and find another two bodies. One is Roan, and he's obviously dead. The other is Indra, and it's less certain what her fate is. Each taking an arm, we lift her. She stirs, looks at us with glazed vision. Silently I sigh in relief. She's been stabbed in the side but otherwise in fine condition considering how many people she took out on her own.

"Heda," she murmurs in apology, knowing Lexa wanted to hurt the person who hurt Costia. "He ran...found more guards...we fought..."

"It's okay," I assure her, though a part of me feels disappointed at his clean ending. "Well done, Indra," I add and she nods once, and steadies herself with a will of iron. It's hardly surprising considering she once went to battle after being shot the previous day.

"I should take a look at that," says Clarke, pointing to her gash.

"It's just a scratch," she says in true warrior manner, even as she grunts in pain. I can see Clarke just barely suppress the eye roll. "Where is the natrona?"

Clarke turns and we follow her back down the hallways littered with bodies. The queen is attempting to rise but Clarke runs over yelling, "You're not going anywhere bitch!" and punches her upside the head with her iron knuckled fist. I know from personal experience that isn't pleasant but I don't feel the least bit of sympathy for the devil.

* * *

When Nia next wakes she is still clothed in her night attire, tied to a cutting tree, in full view of her army. A long fur lined coat has been added to the mix only because we couldn't have her dying from exposure before she paid for her sins.

Echo, Jasper and Octavia succeeded in their goal of knocking the army out with gas canisters and zip-tying each and every one of them. Of course, not every single warrior was within this encampment of tents nestled in-between the broken and burnt buildings. The rest were lured here with the blow of a horn and picked off one by one. By our laws, any traitors are to be tortured and killed, but none of us really wish to slaughter hundreds of people, not after all of the other massacres.

Bellamy, Monty and Raven keep watch on top of buildings for any other latecomers, ready to take them out if needs be. They too were successful in their task of securing the remaining Polis citizens, making sure they couldn't be used as hostages should one or both of our teams failed. By all accounts, our trio screwed up the most, which is embarrassing considering we're supposed to be the leaders.

My hand and skull are throbbing badly but I'm not about to let that dull the edge of our victory. I turn to address the crowd and in a carrying voice say, "For those who don't know, I am the commander."

There's a fair amount of muttering which is unusual for our nearly silent people. I'm sure Nia spread the word and told them to be on the lookout for me. But I guess she didn't tell them _that_ particular detail. I don't know how many of them believe me. And if they do, if they care. Technically I'm a traitor to my own people too.

Titus steps forward in his bloodied, tattered robes and there's a hush. "It's true," he intones solemnly. "Enos kom Azgeda, is the next commander. I tested him myself."

I was also relieved to find my friend and advisor relatively unharmed.

"The war is over, your prince dead, your queen soon to follow," I continue. "The Ice Dynasty is no more. Bow before me and Wanheda, and live. Cut the queen, and live. Refuse to do either of these things, and die. The choice is yours."

No one makes a move.

"They'll never bow to you, boy," says Nia. I cock my head slightly to face her. "You have no honour. You only defeated me through trickery and forbidden technology. You are no leader."

That's rich coming from her. She basically used the exact same tactics to get into her position. I don't dwell on the similarities long.

I nod towards the brown bag with freeze dried ooze staining the bottom. Titus gingerly picks it up, looking faintly queasy and hands it to Clarke. She opens the bag up, and pulls out the severed head of Prince Roan by the hair. This she holds up in front of a devastated and furious Nia and whispers, "Jus drein jus daun." It's obvious that Clarke is taking a fair amount of savage pleasure in this reveal and I shudder to think about how much she has changed over the course of her first year on Earth.

Nia strains against her bonds and snarls, "I will kill you girl!" She says some other not so nice things in Trigedasleng and Clarke looks ready to punch her again, but I want Nia conscious for what is coming, so I look towards Indra and she shoves a gag into her mouth with a smirk.

Clarke then holds up the head for all to see and says, "This is what happens to traitors. By law, you should all be put to death. But the commander is merciful. Do not mistake this for weakness! He would rather let you live than slaughter even more of our people, worthless as they may be. This pointless war has shed too much blood as it is." She tosses the head into the mass of grounders, and other than stepping aside to avoid being hit, they don't react act all. "Bow before us or die."

Still no one makes a move so with a sigh I signal to Indra and Titus. Indra pulls out her sword and stabs the nearest tied warrior through the chest. Titus hits his target in the neck with a special technique that instantly drops him. It has something to do with vital pressure points. He refused to teach me his secrets, claiming only the Fleimkeppa* was allowed to know them. It takes the deaths of eight more before one of them finally bows. Like dominoes, a great many of the rest follow suit. But not all. Some continue to be stubborn and forfeit their lives. They are quickly dispatched of with arrows from Octavia and Echo.

I order everyone remaining to rise. Then I retrieve Lexa's dagger and walk back to Nia. I hold it up to her eye in a reminiscent manner to what she did to Clarke. She scowls at me as I remove the gag. I bring the edge down for the first time to her arm, slicing through her coat. I step back and hand the bloodied blade to Clarke, who repeats the process with fire in her eyes. After Indra also has a turn, I gesture for the nearest warrior to come up the steps and cut his former ruler. I'm a little bit antsy to be arming them, even if they are tied and it's only one at a time.

The warrior is expressionless as she takes the dagger from Indra and cuts into Nia's flesh. She steps back down and the next one is ushered up. Five more cuts and Nia is beginning to break, beginning to show her weakness.

Everything progresses smoothly for awhile until one of them tries to cut me down. If he hadn't been tied he probably would have succeeded, that's how swift and unexpected his movement was. I kill this one myself and kick his still standing body off the raised platform. I eye the rest of them, daring them to make a similar attempt.

Around fifty cuts in Nia is whimpering like a child and acting very un-Nia-like; it's one thing to dish out the pain, it's another to receive it. I suppose that's what prompts the next warrior to do what she does. Instead of cutting, this one stabs Nia in the chest before anyone realizes what's happening. It's similar to what Clarke did to Finn, except, this person missed her heart due to the awkwardness of holding a knife while bound. Quick as lightning, Titus takes her out. I look to Clarke in consternation. Lexa's dagger is still embedded in Nia's chest. If we remove it, she'll just die that much faster.

Nia laughs, blood spewing out of her mouth. "How can you lead when you can't even complete a simple cutting ritual? My people will eat you alive," she looks between us, grinning wryly, " _heda's_."

"They won't dare try," says Clarke, an edge to her voice. Her eyes glint with malice as she leans in closer, "I'll blow them up with missiles if they do."

Nia's eyes widen at that pronouncement and before she can say anything else, Clarke wraps her hands around her throat and starts squeezing. I could try to stop her, I could try to take back control of the situation, but there's little point. Nia is done for soon enough, one way or the other. Might as well let Clarke have this moment. Lexa is gracious enough to agree and I shake my head towards Titus and Indra, telling them not to interfere.

Clarke squeezes with such ferocity that Nia starts thrashing within ten seconds, gurgling out the last of her oxygen supply.

"For Lexa, you bitch!" she snarls with a final crunch of cartilage.

 _And for Costia_ , I think, hearing Lexa's words intoned at the same time.

With the exception of Clarke's laboured breathing, it's very still and quiet. Clarke still has her fingers wrapped around Nia's no doubt bruised and mottled neck.

"It's over, Clarke, you can let go now."

I mean that in both a literal and a figurative sense.

With a barely stifled sob she releases our ultimate foe. She turns to me with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispers, "I had to."

"It's okay," I reply softly, resisting the urge to take her in my arms. "I understand."

She nods, gets a hold of her rampant emotions and together we turn to face the army once more.

* * *

The sun is beginning to rise as the last of Nia's army is kicked out of Polis. The air is still and calm like my heart. Since most of the conclave is dead, Titus and I will need to pick new leaders for their various clans. It isn't how we usually do things, but perhaps being able to choose those I think will be loyal this time, won't dare start another war, will actually aid us in our agenda. The coalition broke because of one master manipulator, one stubborn and vicious thorn in my side. Now that she's finally out of the picture, I can possibly foresee the lasting peace and prosperity I have always wanted for my people.

With Titus' help I ascend up the rickety elevator of the Feva Feya. We really should have it spruced up at some point. Lexa might have deemed it safe enough, but I sure as hell don't. I'm practically sweating in fear by the time I get to the top. With no one to tend to it for awhile, the flame is dying out, so it's less warm up here than it usually is.

I cautiously make my way over to gently blowing brown locks and even more cautiously lower myself beside her. She doesn't turn at my appearance and we just sit in a comfortable silence for awhile watching the sun rise, listening to the birds chatter. One of her fists is clenched and I wonder what she's holding in her hand, if anything. I see her eyes are trained on the receding figures in the distance.

"Do you think it was a mistake letting them go?" she asks me.

"It's what Lexa wanted. So no, I don't think so, Clarke."

She closes her eyes and shakes her head softly. "I'm so tired of fighting. I'm so tired of all the pain and suffering." She sighs and slumps her shoulders. "I'm just so tired."

I place my hand over top her clenched fist and rub soothing circles in it. She leans into my side, rests her head against mine. "You can go back to the mountain if you wish to, Clarke. You don't have to stay here in Polis."

She pulls away and just stares at me in confusion. "What are you saying, Enos?"

"I'm saying that you don't have to be a leader anymore if you don't want to."

It'll be hard to let her go but if she needs time to sort herself out, I won't hesitate to give it to her.

She frowns further. "I abandoned my people once before. I don't intend to again. And why exactly are you trying to get rid of me anyway?" she continues in an increasingly agitated manner, her clenched knuckles turning white. "Do you think I'm too broken and useless to help you rebuild the coalition?"

I'm getting uneasy now, afraid she's going to jump up and accidentally fall off the edge. Why there's no guardrails up here is beyond me.

"Clarke-"

"Because I'm not you know! I'm perfectly capable of helping you! I won't let you push me away Enos! Not when I'm starting to-!" She stops abruptly and glances away. The merest hint of pink tints her cheeks.

There's an awkward silence until I say, "I didn't want you to leave."

She jerks her head and then opens her hand. Lexa's star is there. Its sharp metal edges dug into her flesh, nearly piercing. Clarke takes my hand and places the star in it, her fingertips lingering for longer than necessary.

"You should have it."

I'm not sure how I feel about wearing something that was recently on a dead person's skin, but I accept the token graciously with a dip of my head regardless. Why I should I care about something like that when said dead person is _in_ me, is beyond me.

Yet another quiet engulfs us. I wonder if I should just leave her to her thoughts. After all, that's why she's up here. She surprises me though when she says, "Tell me about yourself, Enos."

"What would you like to know?" I ask, side-eying her.

She cocks her head to the side, the merest trace of a smile. "Everything."

I'm equally excited and apprehensive about full disclosure. But the prospect of making some new memories with Clarke overrides my doubt. I look back at the rising sun, my spirits soaring, and begin.

The End

* * *

 **I think I've killed the ice queen off in 3 fics now, and she has a different name in all of them, so I actually had the wrong name in here for the first few chapters until I realized my mistake. I don't know if anyone else noticed.  
**

 **So I'm not saying they end up together romantically, with a house and kids and whatnot, but I'm not not saying that either...it's whatever you want it to be. This story was more about Clexa's relationship and Clarke coming to terms with what had happened, than about Enos himself, which is why I didn't really give any backstory.**

 **Anyway, thank you very much for reading this entire thing. It definitely ended up being longer than I originally anticipated, but I figured I wasn't likely to tread on this angsty, soul crushing ground again, so I might as well try to tell it semi-properly.  
**

 **Now it's off to write Clexa crack. :p  
**

 ***I'm not sure what he actually called himself when he was talking to Lexa after training the Nightbloods. If you can make it out better, let me know and I'll change it.**


End file.
